Plan C
by she-mammoth
Summary: After Brendan is sent to prison he learns to accept that he will spend his life inside, he makes new friends, enemies and even sees some old faces before his trial. But will he actually be given life or eventually reunite with Steven?
1. I Will Not Die Prison

**Just a warning, Ste will not make an appearance for a good few chapters, chapter 12 to be precises. The cha****pters will be short, and I plan on updating every few days so you won't have to wait too long for him. He'll be mentioned of course, and if I can I'll try and fit him in sooner.**

**Word count: 2,267**

** I Will Not Die in Prison**

**25th March 2013 **

"Interview at Chester Police Station, with Brendan Brady."

Brendan salutes to the camera, before returning his haunted stare back to Shawnee, her own gaze also set steadily on him.

"Officers present are myself, DCI Shawnee and DI Price, also present is Mr Brady's solicitor, Jim McGinn. The time is 10:45 am, on the 25th of March 2013. I must remind you that you're still under caution and you are here on suspicion of murder."

"Suspicion of murder? I've confessed."

"It's just procedure, do you understand?" DI Price pipes up for he first time. He regrets it as soon as the first syllable leaves his mouth, his words come out rushed, blending into one before stopping abruptly.

DI Andrew Price has boyish features, speckled green eyes and short brown hair.

Brendan guesses he must be ambitious to have worked his way up the ranks so quickly. Ambitious maybe, but not all that brave, he hasn't looked at Brendan directly since entering the room, says as little as possible and hunches over in an attempt to be unnoticeable.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Brendan shifts his attention to he lad, making it so he has no choice but to continue interacting with him.

"Tell us about the first murder?" His voice low and shaky under the pressure of Brendan's scrutiny. Brendan looks him dead in the eye, tilting his head to an angle to demonstrate deep thought, leaving a ludicrously long pause before answering.

"What do you want to know?"

"Well, you've confessed, there are five bodies, but no apparent reason." Shawnee takes over the interview, not wanting Brendan to play games with her young colleague.

"None died that –"

"– that didn't deserve to die. Yes, we know, we've read the transcript. Care to expand?"

"No, not really. I've said I did it, I was literally caught with a smoking gun in my hand. What else do you people want? If you don't mind, I'd like to serve my sentence in peace now."

With that, Brendan stands ready to leave, but Jim drags him back down.

"Brendan this is a serious case. Although you've confessed and will plead guilty in the Magistrates' Court, the Judge will very likely send your case to Crown Court for sentencing. If they want, they have the power to give you a longer sentence and decide where exactly you'll carry out the sentence. So please, cooperate."

_I will not die in prison, I will not die in prison, I will not die in prison. It's never going to happen._

"Daniel Huston, December 28th 2010, approximately 9:45 pm." Brendan concedes.

"Where did the murder take place?"

"The cellar of Chez Chez."

"You committed a murder in a club full of people?"

"No, it was closed at the time. There had been a fire weeks before across the high street, caused damage to our roof."

"The place was empty? Is that why planned to do it there? No one likely to interrupt-"

"Er, you don't have to answer that!" Jim warns his client.

In true Brady form, he ignores the advice. "No, I didn't plan it. Looking back I didn't plan any of them. I just kept getting myself into … unfortunate circumstances."

"Unfortunate? Five times? You must be the unluckiest man in the whole of the North West, to have accidently kill five people." Shawnee mocks, finding him ridiculous.

"I said they were all unplanned, not that they were all accidents."

"Why'd you do it?"

Brendan looks over, it's Price asking the question now and he looks genuinely interested.

"Danny requested my services, asked me to kill someone. You know what's funny? The funny thing is, murder wasn't even an option for me, it was a line that I was unwilling to cross. I told him I'd done it, instead I let the guy know what Danny had planned for him. Thought, let them sort it out between themselves. When Danny found out the guy wasn't in fact dead he asked to meet me at the club. He told me he was done with the place, signed his half over to Warren Fox. He was done with me too, but said he'd_ 'pay a visit to my little friend' _before he went. I saw red, Danny had already killed someone I knew, when he threatened Steven something snapped inside of me." He taps his chest twice, real pain through his face at the though of harm coming to Steven. "I didn't even have to think about it, I picked up a crowbar and smashed his skull in. It was simple, he threatened the life of the man I loved, he had to go. I don't think he even saw it coming."

"Then you dumped the body in the river?" Price on the edge of hid seat is visible enthralled in Brendan's account of the first of his many murders.

"_Then you dumped the body in the river?"_ Brendan mimics the lad. "Have you ever tried dragging around a body? All that dead weight. Not an easy task, not like I could push him through the village in a wheelbarrow. I stole a car, put the body in the boot, wrapped up in an old carpet. I was set to go, but the car wouldn't start. Lucky for me one of yours, Ethan Scott, came along. Wait, ain't he locked up? Hit and run, if memory serves? He was very helpful, there were coppers everywhere, patrolling the streets and there Ethan was to lend me a hand. I should have known then that he was a rubbish copper."

-8-

"Michael Cornish, your second victim. He was seen hours before his death in Hollyoaks village, where you used to live. The question is how did he end up in Southport, dead at the bottom of a lighthouse, were you just happened to be?"

"I-think-it's-time-for-a-break." Jim blurts out his words, seemingly worried.

"I'm sorry?"

"My client was shot, just four days ago. He came in willingly and has been nothing but compliant. Have you got a problem with him taking some time to regain his strength in between questions?"

"Interview suspended at 11:05 am. You've got 15 minutes, Brady."

Shawnee and Price get up, heading towards the door.

"Don't forget the camcorder, I'd hate for a confidential conversation between a lawyer and his client to be 'accidently' recorded. Imagine the number of laws that would be breaking, and the disciplinary hearing that would inevitably follow, oh what terrible business that would be."

"Price, turn off that bloody camera will you?"

Once alone Jim takes out a stack of notes from his briefcase, frantically looking through pages and pages of police interviews and notes. When he looks up at Brendan he is noticeably exasperated.

"I knew there was something odd about this one, you don't make things easy do you?"

"What are you withering on about, James?"

"We're not under any delusions that you're going to get off this one, you admitted to killing five people. The question is how long you'll go away for. My job, the reason you're paying me, is to make your sentence as short as the law will allow."

"What's the problem?"

"Well they have extensive notes from Simon Walker's report of the murder of Michael Cornish. There's a gap between his arrival to the village and him falling to his death. I think they're trying to catch you out on this one. I need you to listen to what I'm about to say, think about it, I mean really thing before you tell be exactly what happened that day, as _you_ remember it. Can do that for me?"

"Yes, I can do that."

"You have killed multiple people, meaning life imprisonment, that's a minimum of 30 years before parole will even be considered. Now, there are certain things that will take parole off the table completely, meaning you'll get a whole-life order. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes! Just get on with it!"

Brendan's entire body is on alert, conscious on the seriousness of Jim's words and doesn't want to miss a thing.

"Okay, okay. When sentencing a murderer of two or more people there are additional aggravating factors, which include premeditation, abduction and inhuman conduct against the victim. I don't want to hear anything that may further incriminate you, I don't need to be complicit. I simply want you to tell me what happened, in a thought out well-worded way that will not add time on your sentence. Do you get what I am telling you?"

"Ahhh." Brendan moaned, bearing teeth before smacking the palms of his hand against his forehead.

He recalls that day. Mick tied up in the boot of his car, abduction. Driving to a car park where Joel battered him with a hammer and later hanging him from the lighthouse by his feet, inhuman conduct. That was two out of three. He knew any half decent prosecution lawyer would argue that he took Mick to that lighthouse with the intention of throwing him off it, premeditation. Strike three.

Brendan understood all right, understood that one of the murders that he didn't commit might be the end of him. He might spend his last days on earth, a pathetic weak old man in a prison cell.

"I understand."

-8-

"Michael Cornish was the step father of my business partner, Joel Dexter. The day before his death I saw him punch Joel in the courtyard outside our club. I invited Joel to Southport with my sister, Cheryl and myself, thought some time away would get his mind of things. I have no idea how Mick knew where we were, but he sent us a message saying he had Joel's girlfriend, he must have followed her there. We tracked them down, Joel got Theresa to safety but Mick took off. Early the next morning I finial tracked him down on the roadside, I chased him to a lighthouse, where we fought. I won."

"You _won_?" Shawnee inquires, venom and disgust in her tone.

"He fell. In the struggle. Treacherous ledge."

"And the body?"

"As you know I called Simon Walker, he put it in the boot of my car. I drove around with it for a while, unsure of what to do. I put him in a barn, because driving around in car full of my family and friends with a body in the boot was not clever. Then _you_ showed up, _'looking for a missing person'_ that's when I new something was off. Walker, he was too calm. No surge of panic, no acceleration of his heart rate, no sweat in his brow. Anyway, later that night I went back to the barn and the body was gone. So I went back to my room, and the next day we took nana Flo to the holiday home."

"The body was gone?" Price repeats, his face distorted in disbelief.

"POOF. GONE."

Brendan brushes his hands together twice and innocently shrugs, to imply he knows nothing of the magically disappearing corpse.

"Bodies don't just vanish." Shawnee states. More confident in her disbelief of Brendan's tale, unlike Price her face remains steady.

"Well this one did. Maybe it was dragged away by a giant country fox, I don't know."

"That didn't strike you as odd? You kill a person, lose the body and then just keep going with the family holiday?"

"Yup, pretty much."

Shawnee looks at Brendan through squinted eyes, trying to find a proof of his lie on his unreadable face. She was obviously frustrated and agitated, and Brendan could not let the moment pass without wind her up further.

"Maybe it was Walker."

"Walker, and why would he do that?"

"The man was unhinged, consumed by the crazy idea that I was to blame for his brother's untimely death. He was sent under cover by you, to live with and befriend the man he hated more than anything. Remember when I said I knew something was up? After you searched my car, Walker didn't even react, I looked over at him and there was nothing, he just wanted to know where the body was. I didn't trust him after that, and he knew it. I guess that's why that's why he came on to me."

Brendan stops to admire the reaction he had elicited from his audience. Smirking as shock and disbelief spreads over their faces.

"Oppose!" Brendan pouts his lips and covers them with his hands, feigning embarrassment. "Was that not part of his assignment? Me fucking him? The guy was willing to go to any lengths to get at me, after what he did to my teenage son, which is on you." He points an accusing finger a Shawnee. "And the events of the last week it's quite clear that his plan wasn't to get me sent down. So yes, my best guess would be that Walker disposed of the body to give him more time to fuck with my life. But alas, we will never know."

"That's enough. The time is 1:12 pm, the interview is suspended to be continue at a later date."


	2. You Owe Me

**Thanks to Emz for the lovely review on the first chapter, I'm honoured to have received the first comment you made on here. I hope you enjoy this chapter. **

**Word count: 2,746**

**You Owe Me**

******26th March 2013**

The day after he arrived at Liverpool Prison Brendan had gone through the procedure of a psychiatric assessment and was approved for a shared cell. The cell was empty, the bed on the right side of the rectangular room had a book on the pillow – To Kill a Mockingbird – and pictures on the wall. He put his belongs on the left side of a shared desk –bible, toothbrush and past, electric razor, pictures of his kids, one of himself with Cheryl, Joel and Mitzeee and finally Ste with his kids – before laying on the free bed.

"Open 106, transfer from sickbay."

It was evening by the time his cellmate mate returned, Brendan was sat reading the Bible his eyes flicked up, immediately returning to the words in front of him.

_Leviticus 24:17-21 And he that killeth any man shall surely be put to death. And he that killeth a beast shall make it good; beast for beast. And if a man cause a blemish in his neighbour; as he hath done, so shall it be done to him; Breach for breach, eye for eye, tooth for tooth: as he hath caused a blemish in a man, so shall it be done to him again. And he that killeth a beast, he shall restore it: and he that killeth a man, he shall be put to death._

He's cellmate was kid barely out of his teens, constantly squirming. He had fiery red hair, milky skin covered in freckles, green eyes and an expression like he could be sick at any moment permanently planted on his face. As well as red marks, like that made from a strong grip around his neck.

Although the boy, Robin had eventually mustered up the courage to say _hi_, Brendan had not spoken a word to his cellmate over the last four days, or even acknowledged that he was in the room at all. Their only interaction thus far had taken place in the shower when Robin had dropped his bar of soap. He warily looked around, the room was not occupied to full capacity and there was no one in close proximity. As he went to pick it up his arm was tugged harshly, Brendan simply shook his head and gave him a stern look, then offered the boy is own soap. This is when Brendan noticed more bruising, an array of purples, greens and yellow all over his torso.

It wasn't just Robin, Brendan didn't socialise with any of is fellows inmates. Word of the epic stand off at a club in Chester, requiring a helicopter and an armed police force had spread through the prison. Brendan had killed five people and survived a sniper shot, his arrival was big news in the lower security prison filled mostly with milder criminals. He was highly anticipated, by both convicts and guards alike.

The guards looked at him like he was something they had trod in because he was a cop killer, the worst type of scum. But they weren't used to dealing with such high profile and dangerously unpredictable inmates, they were cautious of what he was capable of. The prisoners were split, they knew not to fuck with hard man Brendan Brady, but his presence meant different things to different people. Most stayed out of his way, trying to stay off his raider others tried to recruit him for there gangs or wanted to use his contacts for a whole range of illegal activates.

-8-

Brendan woke up on his fifth morning inside, a daily routine already formed. He woke up early, while the rest on the prison was still sound asleep, worked out while listening to Johnny Cash – Cheryl had sent a few of his books, CDs a small stereo and his portable chess board – on the first morning he discovered that Robin could sleep through pretty much anything. Wake up call was at 8 am, he went straight to the shower, had breakfast and went to daily mass before returning to his cell to read.

"Kid, scram. I need a minute with Brady."

Brendan looked up, he had wondered how long it would take for Warren to come around. He looked over to Robin, who was now standing but unmoved. He's feet frozen looking between the two, seemingly seeking Brendan's permission to leave. He nods, approvingly.

"You've got that one well trained." Warren smirks, taking a seat on Robin's neatly made bed.

Brendan finishes the verse before marking the page and placing the Bible to the side. His legs swing off the bed so he's sitting up right, directly across from Warren.

"I've not said a single word to the boy."

"It must be your intimidating demeanour or your reputation of being a psycho, this place was buzzing with rumours when word got out that you were coming here. Poor kid must have been scared shitless when he found out you'd be roomies."

"I've been here for five days and not a word, your not here for a friendly catch up or to talk about my cellmate." Brendan was sharp, already tiring of Warren.

"Straight to the point, I always did appreciate that about you. But the days are long inside, there's no harm in a little small talk to pass the time. Not to worry, you've got 30 to life to get used to it."

"Just get on with it, Warren."

"Word is, you had yourself a little trip to the cop shop yesterday?"

"You want to know what I said about Danny?"

"You tried stitching me up with that once before, I've just come to make sure you ain't made the same mistake twice. It be a shame if my mates in here had to pay you a visit."

"Warren I'm the reason your in here, I turned your girlfriend and even your son against you. If that isn't reason enough to have me beaten up I don't know what is. My guess is none of your little mates have the balls to even say boo to me now. A few of them have actually been quite hospitable. I have to say I'm feeling the love, so if you want to do the big man act lets just see how that turns out for you."

Warrens looks defeated, never one to hid his emotions well. Knowing Brendan has all the cards he gets up to leave.

"Foxy." Brendan's standing now, invading Warrens persons space. "I didn't say a word about your involvement."

"Why not?"

"I'm in here either way, might as well do an old friend a favour. Mark 11:25 _'and when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.' _I'm a changed man."

Brendan looks at Warren tenderly, an inviting smile across his face. Nevertheless, he can almost see the cogs turning in Warrens head as it tries to figure out the catch.

"You're going to hang this over me?"

"It doesn't hurt for someone like you to owe me one in a place like this. Owe me two in fact."

"Two? And how'd you figure that."

"Joel."

"Joel?"

"Joel, your son. Mick, my second 'victim' was Joel's step-daddy. I killed Danny for Steven, why would I go and do a thing like kill for your son?"

"You wouldn't."

"The kid's already been inside twice, once for battering the guy. Accident or not I don't see a judge being too lenient, do you?"

"Why would I give a damn about what happens to that little scroat?"

"Oh I think you give a damn. He's your only son, your blood you can't help but care."

"Fine, whatever."

"I'll be seeing you Foxy." Brendan feel's pretty smug.

Before he could return to his bed the post trolley stopped outside his cell. There were letters and a package for Robin, which he places on his side of the desk. Brendan knew what the last lone envelope address to him would be, it had come everyday without fail. A request for a visiting order from Ste, he ticked the refusal box and returned it to the inmate in charge of post.

He sat for a while, thinking of how much pain Steven must be in, but he had told him that he wouldn't let him visit. He had to live his life, Brendan had nothing to offer him anymore. Contact would only make it harder, for the both of them.

Brendan hadn't realised how much time had passed, he could spend all day thinking of his Steven. He splashed water over his face before heading off to his prison job in the kitchen.

-8-

He spent the rest of the day in a haze, the monotony of prison life was easy to fall into and required very little thought.

At dinnertime Brendan was still out of it, missing his love, grieving for the _happily ever after_ they'd now never get. He was sat in corner of the canteen on a table he had claimed for him alone, after the incident on the first day no one had dared join him. Brendan wasn't looking to cause trouble, he had to be on his best behaviour, there was many perks to be gained by a long timer like himself for good behaviour. But he also knew that he had to assert his place occasionally.

_When some big guy came over patted his back, talking about smuggling heroin he quickly decided this should be his first frenzied act. He picked up his tray and slammed it against they guy's head, knocking him to the floor. Discarding the tray he went at him with his fists, over and over. The guards eventually pull him off his bloody and beaten target, he shrug himself out of their grasp announced to the room 'I like to eat my meals in peace, it's the simple pleasures', before returning to his pudding totally calm. That was that. _

Uncharacteristically he had not touched the meal in front of him, on the way to the bins to dispose of it the clatter of a tray hitting the floor and then a united jeer from the room caught his attention.

It was his cellmate, he tended to walk around with his head down, in an attempt to be invisible honestly it made him look weak. Eyes on the floor, he had walked into another prison, whose dinner was down his front and over the floor. Brendan could see the look in the man's eyes, the look that he was sure many had seen in his own, countless times before. He was about to lose it with Robin. Brendan hesitated for a second, swaying back and forth where he stood, looking from the door to the frightened boy and back to the door again.

By the time he made his way though the crowd circled around the two men, the kid was pinned against the wall about to have his face caved in. Brendan pulled back the man's arched arm before he could do any damage. He turned to look at whoever dared get involved in his business, fuming eyes falling on Brendan.

Brendan simply shook his head, pulled the boy away and pushed him into the crowd.

"You, get back to our cell."

He didn't need telling twice, he ran all the way.

"And I thought I was the psychotic one in this place. No need to cry over spilt milk."

Brendan laughed manically to himself, noting the cup of milk on the floor. There was a grumble of laughter from the horde behind him, but not from the guy he still looked like he could blow at any moment. The mood of the room changed, tension rippling through as the man came toe to toe with Brendan.

"Alright lads?"

Brendan looked over when he heard that familiar voice for the second time in just a few short hours, Warren had his arms crossed at Brendan's side.

"Foxy?"

"Lincoln, you got a problem with my friend here?"

"You know this moppet? He's got a death wish."

"Me and Brady we go way back, I dated he sister for a while, lovely woman." He laughed to himself when Brendan lets out a low growl. "He didn't mean anything, always had a soft spot for young boys did our Brendan. Anyway I'm sure the _three _of us can work this out amicable?"

Lincoln assessed the situation, looking at the two men in front of him, Brendan poised for a fight while Warren had that annoying grin on his face. He was bigger than them, but together they could take him. With all the talk he had heard the last few days he knew no one was going to have his back against Brendan Brady, the guards hadn't even come over to break up the commotion.

"Amicable, sure. Just tell that boy of yours to stay out of my way."

-8-

There were no good days in prison, just days worse than others. This was the worst so far, being apart from Ste had become unbearable and his future was bleak. Brendan wasn't too happy that he had just made an enemy, and was sure Warren was going to count that as one of his favours. He just wanted to get back to his cell and sleep through the rest of this day.

"Kid, you need to be more careful. I'm not always going to be there to protect you."

Robin was curled up under his sheets, his back to Brendan. He didn't respond, but Brendan knew he was still awake because he was sniffing from crying. He decided to leave it, stripping to his boxers and put on standard prison issued pyjama bottoms. It wasn't cold so he lay on top of the sheets, arms under his head ready for sleep.

Being miserable all day was exhausting, so Brendan drifted into a light sleep fairly quickly. The weight on the mattresses shifted, a warm body on top of his, he's dreaming of Steven again. Legs either side of his hips, hands on his chest and lips pressed against his own. His eyes spring open because these lips definitely don't belong to Steven.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Brendan yelled, sitting up.

"What do you think?" Robin's voice is low and husky.

Still straddling Brendan, nuzzling his neck and caressing his chest. Brendan grabbed the boy by the wrists to stop him.

"Are you even gay?"

He laughs, but it's humourless. "Like that even matters, there's only one thing a guy like me is good for around here."

"So you what, you just jump into people's bed and maul them?"

"It's easier that way. If I don't struggle, give them what they want it hurts less and I don't get a beating."

Brendan only now notices how sad the boy looks, he wonders if he's always been that sad. He hadn't taken any real notice of him. The reason for the bruises and his trip to sickbay is obvious. He let go of Robin, who perches on the edge of Brendan's bed, so he follows suit.

"What made you think I wanted anything from you?"

"You said you wouldn't always be there to protect me. I thought that meant you'd look after me if I let you fuck me. People round her are scared of you, better I be yours than the bitch of the prison, being banged by every frustrated guy in here."

"They rape you?"

"I'm still alive." He doesn't answer the question.

Brendan instantly feels compassion for the boy, but can see he doesn't wan to talk about it and knows first hand he doesn't want to be pitied.

"If you get yourself killed I'm going get a new cellmate. You're quiet, neat and don't snore, I like that, that's the only reason I stepped in. I don't need anything from you. Go back to you bed Robin."


	3. Return to Sender

**Word Count: 1,606**

**Return to Sender **

**27th March 2013**

It was past midnight and Robin had not fallen asleep, kept awake by the sounds of other prisoners, shouting threats or laughing in insanity and others just crying out for the mothers. Brendan had learnt to tune these sounds out from his previous stint in prison, but was still wide-awake with too much on his mind. Eventually Brendan heard the heavy breathes of sleep coming from across the room, while he continued to stare into the darkness. His focus was now on the pain coming from his shoulder, radiating from his bullet wound. He'd have to lay off the exercise for a while, find another way to release his pent up energy.

The burning hot pain became a dull ache, the thoughts dissipated to nothingness, his eyelids heavy and finally sleep came.

-8-

_buzz buzz buzz_

Brendan and Robin woke up to the sound of the morning roll call bell resonating through the prison. Robin still wasn't used to the way it made the whole place shake and abruptly shot up from it vibrating through his bed.

"Morning."

He turned, surprised to see Brendan still in bed, stretching out and looking shattered. He was even more surprised that he had greeted him.

"Um … yeah, morning."

The electronic doors slid open and they walked out to join row of inmates lining up in the corridor.

"Bower."

"Yep." The man named Bower retuned to his cell crawling back into bed.

"Watson."

"Here." Robin murmured in a mouse like squeak.

"Brady."

"Still here." Brendan yawned out lazily.

With that he went straight to the shower room, needing the sensation of hot water cascading of him to wake up fully.

-8-

Robin was already eating breakfast and passes Brendan a cup of tea as he walks in, made from his own weekly teabags and sugar allowance.

"To say thanks and sorry for last night."

"Don't mention it."

Brendan opens his own breakfast pack, delivered the evening before and makes himself a jam sandwich. When he takes a sip of tea he looks over at his cellmate, raising an eyebrow because it's got three sugars. Just how he likes it.

They eat in silence.

-8-

Brendan's lunch is delivered half way through the meeting he has arranged with Jim to talk about his finances.

"There's been an offer on the club, it's being finalised currently and should go through within the next few days."

"Really that fast?" He asks with a mouthful of chicken & mushroom pie.

"Well after everything that went on there, there's been quite a lot of buzz about the place. People love the story, and you've got quite the hoard of groupies coming around. It's just good business."

Brendan grimaces at the idea of people idolising him and the though someone making a profit from what went on that night. What Cheryl had to do, what she'll have to live with and of course the moment when everything he had with Ste slipped through his fingers.

"There were quite a few people interested, drove the value up. To £305,000 to be exact, well over the starting bidding price. This is to be split between your children I believe?"

"And Joel Dexter. My business partner, he should get a third."

"The club had another owner, that will complicate things." Jims says, while sifting through the contract for the club, looking for where he missed Joel's name.

"He signed his half over to me a while ago, but didn't exactly get compensated. I don't know where he is now, but he should be easy enough to find."

"Okay good, I can deal with that no problem. I've arrange for an estate agent to book viewings for the property on Fern Street, the flats you own."

"No." Brendan barks out more forcefully than intended. "It's to be signed over to Steven Hay. It's his home and he can rent out the flat above."

"Okay, I'll draw up the paper work for that. Then there the matter of your personal wealth, you car, the house your family resides in, in Ireland and…" Jim takes a moment to look through his papers once again. "…whoa! A total of £538,734.09 in your bank accounts. Being a club owner is obviously a lucrative business." Jim sceptically remarks.

"You can sell the car, give the money to a kids hospital or something. The house can go to my ex-wife, Eileen. And the money: £100,000 is to go to each of my lads, in a fund until they're 18. £100,000 to Eileen to help look after the kids and to payoff whatever's left on the mortgage. The rest is for Steven."

"One more thing, I see you own a flat in Dublin?"

"It can't be worth a lot, sell it, split it between the kids."

"It's my opinion that you should keep some reserves. Legal bills being what they are, prison life can get expensive and money to live on when you're on parol."

"Sure, if I ever get out of this place. Put the money from the sale in an account."

"Okay, I'll have this all typed up and sent back for you to sign."

"How is he?" Brendan asked in a strained voice.

"Steven?"

"No, your dustbin man. Of course Steven."

"I know he's kid were in the village over the weekend, which I guess is the one positive of this all."

Jim falters but Brendan doesn't react to his candidness.

"I saw him drunk in the pub after that, in a bit of state. Haven't seen him around since then."

"I want you to keep an eye on him for me."

"Stalker isn't on my list of roles as your attorney."

"You can call it whatever you want James, all I need if for you to tell me how he's doing, okay?"

"Yeah. Yes I can do that."

-8-

When Brendan returned to the cell a few hours later Robin is exactly how he left him. Curled up read his letters, it doesn't look liked he'd moved, not even for lunch. Brendan wants to say something but is distracted by the sound of wheels rolling.

"Post. You've got two today." The 'postman' noted, before handing them over and taking root by the door.

Brendan looked down at the two envelopes, one white, he recognised as a visiting order request. The other was brown with a hand written address, Steven's tiny scrawl. He rips the first one open, again ticking the refusal box. Looking down at the letter from Steven he twirling it around before handing them both back.

"That one can be returnt to the sender."

"Kid, lets go." He was walking out of the cell before Robin could respond. As he strides down the corridor, people stepping aside to create a path he can hear hurried footsteps trying to catch up.

"Where are we going?"

Brendan lookes down at the boy semi-jogging next to him, cheeks red.

"Dinner."

Robin comes to an abrupt stop.

"I can't."

"It wasn't an invitation, I said we're going for dinner. Lets go."

Robin looks in the direction of the canteen with no indication of movement.

"Do not make me repeat myself." He calls back while walking through a set of double doors, the lad at his heel up a flight of stairs. "And don't walk around all hunched over like your puppy's just been shot. If you look feeble people will treat you like you're feeble. Walk with you're back straight, head held confidently and look the other men straight in the eye when you pass."

"I'm 5'7 and skinny as fuck, people treat me feeble because I am."

Brendan growls at the next person the pass, invading his personal space until he backs away. He turns to his cellmate laughing but the boy doesn't look impressed.

"The last time I was in here, Warren Fox had me beaten up everyday. Now because of a few stories being distorted from person to person, like a game of Chinese whispers I'm king-ding-a-ling."

A wide grin spreads over Robins face, almost laughing for the first time in months, but quickly vanishes when he sees Brendan's face is deadly serious face.

"It's all about perception. Give people a reason to be wary of you and they will be." He says passing a tray to Robin as they cut to the front of the queue.

"Easy for you to say, I'm still half the size of most of the guys in here. You on the other hand…"

When he looks up Brendan's already sat at his table in the corner, demolishing his lasagne. Robin freezes, unsure. Does he expect him to come over? Surely not, the last guy that did that is still in the sickbay. He scans the canteen for an empty seat, far away from Lincoln preferably.

Brendan's stops eating, staring Robin down. When they make eyes contact again he indicates to the empty seat beside him. Robin slowly walk over, paranoid that people are looking. When he sets his tray down and takes his seat to Brendan's right he has a perfect view and knows for sure every set of eyes in the place are on them. Waiting for something to happen.

"See perception." Brendan smirks, taking a big mouthful.


	4. Why?

******Word Count: 2,549**

**Why?**

**5th April 2013**

Shawnee turns on the camcorder and sits down across from Brendan. She recites their location, the names of those present and then the date and time, before beginning. "_None died that didn't deserve to die._" She reads from a file. "Florence Brady, your grandmother, what did she do to _deserve _her fate? Why kill a dying pensioner?"

_She knew. She knew what he did to me and she did nothing. She stood back and let my life be taken away, let him make me into this into a freak. That's why._

"Mr Brady?"

Brendan lifts his attention from the multi-coloured grains on the table top to the direction of the voice. Price is looking at him with a mixture of surprise and pity, they were all staring at him, Jim and Shawnee too. He touches his fingertips to feel a solitary tear making its way down his cheek to be absorbed by the beard that is beginning to form.

Killing his own grandmother had affected Brendan differently from the other lives he had taken. Danny had been the first, it scared and haunted him for months afterwards. But he had threatened Steven's life and Brendan would never regret it. Although he didn't kill Mick with his own hands he knew he was entirely responsible. Then again, Mick was a man that had abused a woman and a child. So when he plummeted to the ground, the contents of his head staining concrete a violent red he didn't bat an eyelid, the world was better off. Walker had made it so only one of them would make it out alive, Brendan had acted in self-defence and not even God himself could hold that against him. He hopes. He hasn't thought much about his Nana Flo because he doesn't feel guilty, by his moral code she did in fact deserved her fate. But he did feel something, a grief inside his bones.

"Mr Brady?" Price repeats, uneasiness to his voice.

Brendan is finally able to draw his thoughts back from the dark void deep within his mind back to the current situation, forcing the ache out of his marrow.

"My dear nana…" He sniffs, wiping the tear away and using it to his advantage. "She was very ill, cancer. She was a vibrant woman, full of joy and didn't want to spend her last days in a hospital bed."

"You're saying she asked you to kill her?" Shawnee asks to clarify.

"I believe the term is assisted suicide." Brendan corrects, with a choirboy smile on is face. "Nana Flo was a devout Catholic, her faith was very important to her. Suicide is a mortal sin, so you see the predicament?"

"If I recall you are also religious?"

"Yes, but I am a violent, murderous homosexual. I'm already going to hell what's one more sin?"

Shawnee doesn't say a word but doesn't take her eyes off Brendan. He returns the stare, almost daring her to dispute his heartfelt tale.

It's Price who interrupts the stand off. "Can you tell us about your next victim, DI Walker?"

"I'd like it on the record that Mr Simon Walker was no longer on the Police force due to the numerous crimes he committed. Which included but is not limited to, the murder of Riley Costello, the attempted murders of Steven Hay and Declan Brady." Jim informs the camera. "While evading arrest he was able to kidnap Steven Hay and Cheryl Brady, holding Seamus and Brendan Brady hostage. As well as assaulting DCI Shawnee here."

"How did you know about the assault?" Shawnee asks, off guard.

"Oh, I have my ways." Jim taps his nose, smiling. He had said very little during both interviews, but when he did have something to say it reminded Brendan why he was paying such a high fee. "I'd also liked to add that he wasn't a_ 'victim'_. Mr Brady acted in self-defence, making it manslaughter."

"We're not here to argue the charges. The prosecutor will alter them if she or he sees fit." Shawnee pauses for a moment, visibly bracing herself up to say something. "What happened on the day of Simon's death?"

"As you know after his arrest Simon Walker managed to slip through your fingers, again. The next day he sent Steve a message saying he'd hurt his two young children if I didn't meet him. I followed him to a railway track, where he attacked me and then tried to push me off the bridge. Obviously he failed."

"Did he suffer?" Shawnee enquires about the man that was once her friend, exposing more of herself than intended.

"He got in the way of an oncoming train so I assume he was dead within seconds. But from the pictures there I can see you have already found the pieces of his body."

Both Price and Brendan look over at Shawnee, waiting for retaliation or more questions but her eyes are glazed over. She looks sad and regretful, lost in her memories and ideas and scenarios of what if's?

Price decides the to take over the interview realising it is getting too much for her. "So, what events lead to the murder of your father?"

"We never got on, so I killed him." He wants to keep this short. Realistically Brendan knows that no one will question his confession, and there is no reason to even look at Cheryl as a suspect but he can't help but worry if he said too much the lie would unravel.

"A lot of people don't have a good relationship with their parents, but they manage not to kill them." Price didn't look convinced. "From what I can tell you had your own reasons for committing all previous murders, so why did you kill Seamus?"

"What can I say? It gets easier the more you do it, after a while you don't need to make excuses."

"I still find it hard to believe you woke up one day and put a bullet in your Father's back."

Brendan breath was becoming slightly laboured, the boy was clever and he could see how he managed to work his way through the ranks so quickly. "Maybe I should give you an example?"

"That would be helpful."

"As a boy I loved Knight Rider, I mean I really loved it you know? One Christmas, I must have been nine or ten and he bought me an Action Man figure. Action Man." Brendan scoffed affronted. "When all I ever wanted was a Knight Rider Car. I mean what kind of old man does that to their son? Eh?"

"You poor boy." Shawnee quips, voice heavy with sarcasm.

Brendan continues only looking at Price, ignoring her cynicisms. "Then he comes back into my life just before Christmas and it all came flooding back. After that, every time I looked him in the eye all I could think of is that Night Rider car."

The room is silent in disbelief, shocked and mortified. Jim looks like he wants to say something, anything that could portray Brendan in a better light, as a normal human being but for once is flabbergasted. Brendan knows this isn't going to help his case. The prosecutor will paint him as a cold-blooded killer who executed his own father, better that than the truth.

Brendan stares straight ahead and says with no emotion at all. "He got what was coming to him."

-8-

Life in prison had made Robin hyperaware of his surroundings and so he senses Brendan's presences without look away from the words in font of him.

"You okay?"

"Just dandy, happy as can be."

He eventually looks up to see Brendan leaning against the doorway of their cell, arms crossed, head cocked just watching him read.

"I just meant … I figure it must be hard spending time in the real world just to be locked up again."

All he receives as a response is an indifferent grunt as Brendan looks down the corridor. He had quickly realised Brendan would become uninterested half way though a conversation and so he returns to his letter.

"Not exactly the 'real world' is it?" Brendan eventually replies. "I'm cuffed at the gates of the prison, then fastened to the floor of the transport van just to sit in a police station for hours."

"Yeah right, sorry."

"Don't apologise."

Robin simply nods, adding it to his mental list of 'Prison Survival Skills by Brendan Brady' that he is compiling.

"Any trouble while I was gone?"

"Nobody bothered me."

"So you left the cell?" Brendan asks, suspiciously.

"I went for lunch, sat at your table like you said. No one said a word."

"So the guy, that was-"

He interrupts, not wanting Brendan to say the word _rape_ out loud again. "No, nobody's laid a finger on me." His voice is loud and high-pitched.

Brendan notice how uncomfortable the boy is getting, knowing personally how hard it is to discuss what has happened to him, Brendan leaves the subject alone.

"Come on, lets go."

"Where to?"

"Yard."

"The ya-arrd?" He stutters. "What for?"

"I like to stay active but I can't exactly workout, owing to the bullet that ripped through my shoulder last week. And you could use some vitamin D, I haven't seen you go out once."

Robin opens his mouth to speak but his jaw is heavy and he's unable to speak or look Brendan in the eye.

"What?" Brendan questions.

He wants to say _'the guards don't patrol out in the yard, so if something happens there's a lag time for protection'_ but he thought better of it. Robin still didn't know why Brendan was protecting him and didn't want to do anything to jeopardise that. Whatever this was, he knew that Brendan had no time for weakness. _'Don't be a victim' _Brendan's words echoed through his mind, over and over.

"Nothing." He simply said while putting his trainers on.

-8-

The short walk from the transport van to the police station entrance made him miss the feeling of the sun on his skins. The weather was surprising good after days of rain and wind, so he took advantage tilting his head up, soaking it all in, every ray of sunshine.

Walking round the outskirts of the yard is cathartic for him but out of the corner of his eye he can see Robin squirming, hyper vigilant as ever. He feeks sorry for the kid, empathised because he knew what it was like to be smaller and vulnerable and have your rights and dignity stolen.

He can't help but wonder how such a young and seemingly innocent soul could end up in here. It made him think of Steven, a young lad could make one stupid mistake, and end up doing time.

"What are you in for?"

"I killed three people." The boy says bluntly.

Brendan stops, turning to face the boy. Triple murder is not what he was expecting to hear, but the look on the boys face – an airy nothingness – tells him he was completely serious.

"Men or woman?"

"Men."

Convinced he wasn't sharing a cell with a psychopath devoid of human emotions with a weakness for kill woman he carried on walking.

"You're not going to ask me why I did it? I thought it would matter to someone like you."

"It matters, it always matter. You'll tell me in your own time." Brendan simply states.

They walk in silence for a minute, Brendan shocked by the fact that his timid cellmate is a killer and Robin shocked by Brendan's non-reaction.

"Someone like me?" Brendan asks out of nowhere. "Before you said '_I thought it would matter to someone like you?'_ what did you mean?"

Robin's voice gets caught in his throat, he doesn't want to speak out of turn. He'd seen how violently Brendan could react. On the other hand, there was no getting out of giving him an answer, better to give the impression on fearlessness.

"There are some guys in here that are just soulless monsters, from what I can gather you are different."

"I killed five people?" Brendan points out.

"I didn't say you were innocent, you're just not a monster. You don't show any remorse for your actions but at the same time you don't revel in it. And before you asked me if I had killed women or men, that type of thing matters to you. I can tell you value human life."

Brendan wants to protest, he can't understand what it is about him that people what to believe in. To cling to some hidden goodness within him that he doesn't think is there. But they are both distracted by a voice behind them.

"Brendan Brady."

"Kai."

"I heard you were back."

"Can't stay away." Brendan jokes, his voice lacking humour.

"How long you planning on sticking around this time?"

"I'm guilty and I've confessed, don't really have any hopes of getting out."

"I don't know, you're like Teflon. Shit doesn't stick. Anyway, I thought I'd come over, welcome you back and offer my appreciation."

"Appreciation, for what?"

"That copper mate of yours, the first time in he was desperate to be in my crew. Apparently he was in here to find out about my operation, extend my sentence. So, thank you for whatever you did to get me off the coppers' radar."

Brendan recalls the conversation he had with Walker about Kai, he also remembers mentioning the kid with the tattoo… Cam. He could kick himself, but doesn't let it show. "You know me, always here to help."

"Anything you need in here I'm your man."

They resume their walk and Brendan can sense the kid looking at him, desperate to say something. "What is it?"

"You know Kai?"

"From a different life."

"He doesn't seem to think so. The guy has a brick wall surrounding him, it be easier to get a meeting with the Queen. But you, he just walks up to in the yard." Robin was impressed.

"Kid, it's better to stay away from his kind."

"But he just gave you an in, you wouldn't have to watch your back."

"Yeah, it's useful to have someone like that onside if needed, but you can't trust people in here."

Brendan's words hit home. It had been a week since Brendan saved him from Lincoln and he had his back ever since, taken him under his wing even. Robin was grateful because he's meals aren't being taken, people aren't beating on him for sport anymore and the latest rumour was that Brendan had claimed him as his own so he hadn't been violated. Life in prison was becoming almost bearable but he realises now that he was letting himself become complacent.

"So how do I know I can trust you?"

"Kid, I never said you could."

**Let me know what you think? The next chapter will have someone Brendan knows from the Village in it. **


	5. Refractions From The Past - 1

**It has been so long, too long since my last update. I feel like my I'm always apologising, but with Uni and, looking for a job and then going abroad my life has been hectic and I've not had much inspiration for this chapter – funnily enough I have a lot of the later chapter pretty much done now.**

**My other problem is that I can be very hard on my self, and I don't like putting anything on her unless I feel like it fits in perfectly with what has happened and what is to come.**

**I want to say thank to anyone that is still here with me, and the guest user that left a review earlier today.**

**This story will get finished, I can't promise that it will be soon (although I hope so) but I need to write this for my own sanity as a Stendan fan and as a Brendan Brady fan that needs him/them to have a happy ending.**

**Word count: 2,107**

**-8-**

**16th April 2013**

It's 7:00 am, Liverpool prison is in total silence as it is every day at this time. This rare moment of silence allows an hour before morning roll call for Brendan to get completely lost in his thoughts. Thoughts of the new life Cheryl is living, imagining the men his boys will grow to be, along with thousands of different daydreams of Steven. The life he is leading now verses the life they could have had together.

The happily ever after that never was.

Brendan counts, keeps track of time. He's twenty-five days into his sentence, or six hundred long hours. He isn't counting down, there's very little chance that he'll ever be a free man, instead he counts the number of days since he last saw Steven. It's a form of torture.

_What is he doing? _

_Who is he doing it with? _

_Is he happy? _

_Has he moved on yet? _

Brendan can only assume the answer to the latter is a resounding yes. He is no longer receiving visiting order requests. He has told himself that this can only be a good thing, it is how it has to be. He had asked for it, it's what he wants, for Steven to live his life.

_buzz buzz buzz_

Across the room Robin is woken by the sound of the morning roll call bell, both men neatly make their beds and get dressed in silence, before joining the row of men lining the corridor.

"Bower."

"Yep." Bower retuned to his cell crawling back into bed, as he has done routinely every morning.

"Watson."

"Here." Robin's voice is stronger now, and he looks the guard in the eye.

Brendan is proud of the boy's growing bravery, or the allusion of it anyway. This emotion takes him by surprise.

"Brady."

" Mm-hmm." He salutes to the guard.

-8-

It has been over 3 weeks and Brendan has almost fully recovered from the shooting and is able to power through any residual pain. Both men have taken to spending an hour in the gym first thing in the morning, followed by a shower and then breakfast in their cell, still in complete silence. Robin is beginning to get used to Brendan's extended periods of muteness, appreciating that he only speaks when necessary.

After attending daily mass alone, Brendan returns to his cell to find Robin fixated on one of his letters. It's the same thing day in day out. "Who is it that writes to you?" Brendan probes, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"My dad, when he can't visit he writes to keep me updated on his health. He's not been well."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Chronic kidney diseases, needs a transplant but they haven't found a match yet. He won't take mine, he's worried about my quality of life. Quality of life?" He laughs to himself. It is a laugh that lacked any humour and Brendan wonders if cynicism is something the impressionable boy has picked up from him and being in this place. "Not like I need it in here."

"He's your dad, he doesn't see it like that." Brendan can't help but think of his boys. He'd do anything to keep them safe but could never take from them for himself. "So these letters you re-reading and obsess over they're all about your fathers medical condition?"

"No, not all of them." Robin murmurs, looking down at his mattress when he blushes.

Brendan raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

"I have this friend, she writes to me every few days and I write back."

"Like penpals." Brendan comments. "Just a friend, is she?"

"I'm going to be locked behind bars for the rest of my life, not exactly boyfriend material."

Brendan can understand that. He never lets himself think about Steven after the hour before the rest of the prison wakes – it some how seems to sully his memories - but he can't stop his mind from wondering now.

Before all of this, was he ever boyfriend material?

"Post!" The voice of the 'postman' echoing throughout their cell snaps Brendan back to reality.

He watches as his cellmate retrieves his mail, the only person Brendan is in contact with is Cheryl and they speak on the phone. So when Robin hands him a white envelope, a visiting order request he is surprised.

"Someone hasn't given up yet, then?" Robin observes.

It has been over a week since Steven last sent one, he thought he had finally giving up after his letter was returned, unopened. Brendan had imagined Steven living a full life over the last week, taking the kids to the park, cooking up a storm or having a laugh with Doug in the deli. Just living life, a happy life. But looking down at the white envelope ignites something inside him, it means Steven hasn't forgotten him yet. He slides open the envelope smiling despite himself, but is surprised by the name typed out in front of him.

"This is from someone else entirely." He finally responds to Robin's previous statement. Brendan fills out the form, intrigued and returns it to the 'postman'. "Come on kid, we'll be late for the kitchen."

Brendan had managed to get his young cellmate a job along side him in the kitchen. For two reasons. One he need to test how much power he had with the guard and was happy to see they gave into his request with relative ease. Two, Robins previous prison job had been in the laundry room with men like Lincoln, unsafe.

They spent the rest of the morning in the kitchen, peeling, grating, chopping and scrubbing. Kitchen duty is followed by an uneventful lunch, which precedes visiting hour.

-8-

Brendan scans the room for his visitor, he sees the boy sat in the far corner of the room, his head down and eyes averted away from the prisoners.

"Why so nervous?"

The young boy looks up to meet Brendan's eye, he can't tell if he's happy to seem him, but it's obvious he doesn't want to be here.

"Warren, he's here isn't he?"

So that's what's bothering him.

"Not exactly Mr popular, your dad. Doesn't get any visitors from what I've seen." Brendan give what he hopes is a reassuring smile to Joel and takes his seat across the table. "Not that I ain't glad to see you and all, but-"

"Why am I here?" Joel finishes the sentence.

Brendan rests his chin on his thumb, and rubbed his index finger over lips. It is in his nature to be cautious, his relationship with Joel had been turbulent. He cared for the boy, and he was one of the two people there for him at Lynsey's funeral. But they had both done things to hurt other.

"Always suspicious." The boy says, reading his body language.

"You did try to steal from me."

"Then you threatened to kill me if you ever saw me again."

"Yet, here you are? Always were foolishly brave."

"I think I'll be alright, we're in a room full of witnesses." He jokes unsure.

"What they going to do, add more time to life?"

Joel looks frightened, he puts on a brave face and his best tough man act, not breaking eye contact. But Brendan can smell it on him.

He smiles at his old business partner, a genuine smile. He hadn't realised how much he had missed this infuriatingly stubborn young man. He regrets the way they had left things, especially after all they had been through together. It's probably why he had given him all that money. To make amends.

He's happy when Joel returns the smile. That small, in awe smile he used to receive from his boys when they where just toddlers. Joel was looking for a farther figure, someone to guide him and Brendan wishes he had done a better job. Instead he almost dragged him to hell along side him.

"I came to say thanks, for the money."

"You did own half the club." Brendan mimics the childish tone Joel had used on several occasions. "It was rightfully yours."

"Also I need to know why, why you took the blame for Mick?"

"I didn't take the blame, what happened on that lighthouse was my fault. Everything that I made you do to him…" Brendan exhales.

He was trying to teach Joel to take back the power, to be in control. Mick was a monster, but how was he any different? What he did to Vinnie, Macca, Steven and so many others it was exactly the same as what Mick had done to Joel and his mother. He was reflecting his internal struggle on Mick and he got Joel involved.

"You didn't make me do anything, I wanted him to suffer. It was me that killed him." Joel whispers, looking around the room to make sure nobody is listening in on them.

"Joel it was an accident. He came at me and you reacted. But what I said up on that balcony still stands, I was _responsible_ for his death. If it wasn't for me you would never have been up there."

"I'm still grateful. I'm not watching my back anymore, waiting for the coppers to find me. Now me mam knows that he isn't coming back, it's like a weight has been lifted."

"You going back to the village? Now that there's not a mad man threatening to batter you?" Brendan jokes.

"There's nothing there for me anymore."

"What about Theresa?" He had never really taken to the girl, but he knew Joel really loved her.

"She's moved, Dodger Savage."

"So you've been back to the village?"

"Yeah, just for a bit. I was going to check in on Cheryl but she's back in Ireland and I wanted one last look at the club. Mercedes McQueen is running it." Joel's comments, his lips turning down in distane, while Brendan's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Her fella, Dr Browning bought it." He instantly regrets his words when surprise transforms into rage. "I thought you knew?"

"It was an auction, my lawyer never said who actually won." Brendan can feel the rage taking over. The red mist, descending. First that vile man takes the life of a kind and innocent young girl and now he's taken Brendan's sanctuary and given it to his bike of a girlfriend. "Tell me about you life?" He ask, not wanting be consumed by grief and anger.

"I was in London for a while, DJing just trying to survive. Then I met my aunt, Katy and she took me in. It was nice getting got know my family. After you where all over the news, I went back home to make sure me mam was okay. Then I got your cheque, and it was like a second chance. I'm going to do things right and legit. I'm setting up a haulage and delivery company. Buying a small place, somewhere me mam can start fresh."

Brendan listens to the lad go on and on about his plans for the future, with the same passion and determination he had when he wanted to get in on Brendan's side deals. The older man couldn't help but feel pride, giving finical advise and the details of his legal business contacts.

Joel had obviously learnt from the mistakes of Brendan and Warren. He was going to make something of himself, and look after his mother. Neither his biological father, stepfather or surrogate father had been positive role models, but their influence in his life had taught him valuable lessons.

Before they knew it the buzzer was going off to signify the end of visitation.

"I'm glad I came."

Brendan holds Joel in a long and tight embrace, ignoring the words of warning form the guards.

"Me too."

-8-

On the walk back to his cell Brendan realises he never did get to ask Joel if he had seen Steven on his trip back to the village. Perhaps it was for the best, he had obviously moved on with his life. Brendan had to do the same, he had to accept that this was his life now.


	6. Refractions From The Past - 2

**Hope you guys enojoy this chapter. Thank you for the positive feed back from the last chapter. I updated quickly-ish and hope to keep on doing so. **

**Word count: 2,580**

**16th April 2013**

It's dinnertime and Brendan is sat with Robin at their usual table, eating a meal they've made themselves and he feels a weirdly gratified. He's learning to cook and isn't terrible at it, the first time he made mash that was both deliciously creamy and satisfyingly lumpy he imagined Steven would be shocked into silence. It also gave him some resemblance of control, in a place where there was a buzzer telling him when to get up, showers shared with thirty other men, yard time was allocated to just a few hours a day and lights out was at 10pm, something small like contributing to the menu felt good.

He looks over at Warren, who is now occupying one of the empty stools at their table. Brendan knows he should do something to make him move, but doesn't have the energy, and continues to eat his meal.

"Word is, you had a visit from that scrawny little poof of yours."

"Didn't know you where so interested in my personal life, Foxy." He avoids, not correcting him.

Brendan knows Joel doesn't want anything to do with his father, especially now that he is turning his life around.

"You know me, love to keep up with current affairs." He replies with a shit-eating grin on his face. "You must be all hot and bothered, it really is a shame that there's no conjugal visits in this country. You know, to blow off a little steam. But-" He stretches the word, musing. "I guess you're all set with the redhead in your cell every night."

They both look over at Robin, he's uncomfortable under the scrutiny and his cheeks are stained a tomato red. This is not the first time one of the other prisoners has incorrect assumed that Brendan owns Robin or they have come to some kind of agreement. It is the first time anyone has every said it to Brendan's face, but he knows the boy never denies it. The though of that kind of 'arrangement' makes him sick, but he can't hold it against the boy because it is keeping him safe.

He decides not to deny it either.

"Wait? Don't tell me you don't know about the lovely Ste Hay." He say's addressing Robin for the first time.

"Do not say his name in this place." Brendan commands with a growl.

Steven is his weakness, time and time again people have exploited this fact. Brendan doesn't want to take the chance of anyone in here overhearing his name and going after him.

Warren simply laughs.

"And I'm willing to bet _'young Steven'_ doesn't know about your very own rag doll, personal plaything. Never took you for a philanderer."

Brendan's had enough.

"If you must know, I had the pleasure of a visit from a wee Scottish fox."

Brendan watches as confusions sets in to Warren's face, his features becoming heavy and pruned. He can see the very moment when realisation takes over, then anger.

"Joel? Joel!" He rages, standing up and rounding on Brendan.

Brendan always found Warren's clumsy form of fury and intimidation to be ridiculous – especially forty pounds over weight in a puffa jacket, he looked more like an over stuffed pig – and ineffective. Brendan put's down the spoon of apple crumble he was just about to start and stand to face Warren. He looks over his right shoulder to see Robin standing in his defence.

The kid is finally growing some balls. He rethinks this, maybe they're making a reappearance. He took the life of three men and then owned up to it, that was pretty ballsy.

"What are you doing with my son, Brady?"

Brendan eyebrows quirk and there is a bemused smile on his face. "You sent him to me, remember? Like a lamb to fucking slaughter." Brendan laughs. "When you signed over your half of the club you sent a fox into a coyote's den."

"You leave my boy alone."

"He came here of his own accord. I don't know what it is, but these young boys they flock to me."

"Bullshit! My Joel is straight." Warren screams, spit flying.

"There's where you're wrong, he's my Joel. He's my Joel because the boy never had a father, and he was just looking for someone to fill that void. I was there for him."

"If you mess with him, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Brendan doesn't even wait for a reply, because he knows there is nothing he can do. "Sit down Warren." The man doesn't move, aware that they've gained an audience and wants to save face. "Sit." Brendan repeats, his hand on Warren's shoulder.

He finally concedes.

"Robin give us a moment."

"Are you…" he catches himself quickly, not wanting to speak out of turn he changes the question to a statement. "…sure."

The boy picks up an apple and heads back to the cell. At the canteen door he takes one more cautious look at the two men, head full of questions.

-8-

Brendan start on his apple crumble, taking the time to think of a way to gain from the situation. Warren is seething, but waiting silently for him to make a move and their audience has lost interest. That is with the exception of one man, watching Brendan from the far corner of the room.

"Joel can become a non-issue."

"What do you want?"

"That guard." He tilts his head towards the man in the corner, now talking to a college.

"Philips?"

"What's his deal?"

'Crockets guard in this place. Got anything valuable, he'll take it. Need CCTV tape to go missing, he's your guy. Want to corner another inmate alone, he'll sort it. Anything you want in this place, it yours for a price. Why'd you ask?"

"He's been watching me." Brendan's felt the mans eye's follow him around for days now. At first he thought it was paranoia, finally feeling the effects of confinement. But everywhere he goes this Philips is there. He had never even noticed the man before but now it's like they are following identical schedules. "I don't like it."

"I knew you were arrogant, but really? I don't think he swings that way." Warren's laughter dies down when he sees the irritated look on Brendan's face. "You're being serious? You think he wants something?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."

"Want me to get a few of my boys on it, suss him out?"

"No, I can handle it." Brendan decides, not wanting to use up a favour.

-8-

He returns to the cell, with plans of collecting Robin and heading to the leisure room.

"I'm ready to tell you?" His cellmate blurts as so as he steps over the threshold.

The boy is pacing, chewing at his bottom lip, hands twisting together. The same nervous habits as-

"Tell me what?" Brendan asks sitting on his bed.

"Why I did it."

"Killed those men?"

"Yeah, that." He exhales and sits opposite Brendan on his own bed.

Robin doesn't say anything. He's looking straight ahead at Brendan, but doesn't see him. Brendan can tell he is stuck in tornado of some hellish memory so leaves him to compose himself. To fight back to reality.

But the minutes tick by, and the boy hasn't moved an inch, has barley even blinked. The colour has drained from his face – which is saying something given his paper white, pale complexion – and his fists are clenched tightly.

"Kid?" Brendan repeats the word over and over, get loader each time.

He's about to get up and make contact, shake him or something, anything to make sure he's still mentally in this room. That he isn't lost to some darkness within.

"I have an older sister, or had a sister I guess. I never knew my mum, she died giving birth to me. But I had Lacey-" He smiles sadly at his sisters name "-she was only five years older than me, but she was always there to look after me. Made sure I never missed out on anything, threatened any bullies, she even taught me to ride a bike. She made sure I never felt like I was missing anything, not having a mother. One night when she was nineteen she was babysitting me, she had a guy round and told me to stay up stairs, didn't want me cramping her style." He let's out a hollow mirthless laugh, that send a shiver down Brenda's back. "The computer was in her room, I was in there playing Sims but when I heard footsteps, too heavy to be hers I hid in the wardrobe. The guy, Charlie De-Lisi had carried her up and put her to bed. I remember before she passed out completely she was slurring and could hardly keep her head up. Not long after, couldn't have been more that ten minutes I heard foots steps down stairs and I hid in the wardrobe again. Charlie returned with two other guys, Mathew Jones and Thomas Gibson." Brendan didn't miss the pure hatred in the boy's voice when he said those names. "They took turns like it was a game, and it went on for what felt like hours. I hid with my eyes squeezed shut and my hands over my ears trying to block it out. But when I started to cry I had to cover my mouth to hide my sobs. I could hear them then. The noises they made as they violated my sister, the revolting things they said about her, and the jokes they made. They finally left and I crawled in bed with my barley conscious sister and waited for my dad to come home."

Silent tears fall from the boy's eyes, he folds his knees into his body and hides his face in the crook of his elbow, rocking back and forth slowly. Brendan remembers what he went through, what no child should go through especially by their own father. But what this boy is describing is unimaginable. He would go through it all a million times over, in every life time to come to save Cheryl from ever knowing that kind of pain. He doesn't know what to say, his words had always let him down. Instead he stands, ready to show the affection that he is unable to vocalise-

"Don't, just let me finish." Robin looks up at him, his eyes rimmed red. "If you're kind to me now, I'm going to start crying and will never stop. Once you hear how this story ends I doubt you'll fell any compassion towards me."

Brendan thought he already knew how this story was going to end, had pieced it together. Three boys came into his home and stole his sister's innocence like it was nothing. Even though Robin is the younger sibling he felt that need that Brendan knows so well, the need to protect his sister and so he killed them. Brendan more than anyone could understand that, he can't figure out why the lad would think other wise.

The look of his cellmates face tells him there is more to come. He sits down.

"The next morning we went to the police station. I remember Lacey wanted to take a shower, to scrub clean but dad said she couldn't. She clawed at her skin the entire drive. They took us through the motions. Rape kit, DNA samples, I made a statement, then my sister's but she couldn't remember a thing. I always though Charlie had drugged her, it would explain why she was out of it. But, it had been hours and any traces had already left her system. They only found two sets of DNA, Matt's and Tom's. I knew Charlie was there, but there was no evidence and the other two boys denied he had any involvement. Charlie was from a good family you see, respected, buckets of money. But I still remember all the things he said while he was doing it, him egging on the other two, I can still hear his voice in here." He digs at his temple, face violently screwed up. "No one would listen, I was only thirteen they said my mind was playing tricks on me. I'd seen him earlier and I was superimposing the Charlie from my memory into the _'incident',_ that's what they called it." He let out that grim laugh again, eyes crazed. "And anyway _'A nice boy like him would never do a thing like that.'_" Brendan knows he was repeating someone's ill-conceived words, he also knows given the chance or under the right circumstances anyone was capable of anything. "The other two boys went to trial and got a measly 18 months, out in time for their 21st birthdays. It was seeing Charlie that did it, he was on her Uni course. Went on, bold as brass like nothing had ever happened. Lacey couldn't handle it, she dropped out of school, wouldn't leave the house, or see people and she started cutting. She was breaking down. Over a year of no improvement and a few suicide attempts dad couldn't cope, his health was deteriorating by then. He wanted her to go to a Psychiatric hospital or something. As soon as she heard that it was like a switch flipped inside, she was back to the sister I knew. But as their release dates got closer, she started to slip. Nothing you'd notice if you weren't looking or didn't know her well enough, but every now and again the mask would fall. It was two weeks before Matt was to be released and she slit her wrists again. But it wasn't the shallow horizontal cuts she used to make, they were two deep vertical cuts up both arms. I found her in the bathtub bleeding out, the water was so red. Doctor's said it was a miracle she made it, everyone was s relieved and full of joy. It's like they couldn't see how angry she was, angry that she had been saved. I was fifteen by then almost sixteen, and I guessed she though I was old enough to understand. Or maybe she was just being selfish, because she didn't have anyone else to turn to. I didn't want to do it, I swear I held out as long as I could. But she wouldn't stop begging me, she said she'd never stop trying and at least this way it would be painless and quick. I didn't want to be without her but she just wanted to be with mum and I realised my sister had died a long time a go. I was weak." He says more to himself than to Brendan. "I guess the answer to you question is a yes."

"What question?" Brendan manages to croak out, dumfounded.

"Did I kill any women? The answer is a yes. I stole a lethal dose of morphine from a supply room, but when it came to it I bottled out. Like that night I hid, I just froze and she had to do it herself. I sat with her, holding her hand… it was quicker than I had expected. No one asked any questions, just assumed her body had given out. Two weeks later Matt made parole, Tom a few months later. They both moved away, but they were living it up in these swanky apartments with sport cars and women hanging off their arms. I hadn't thought much about Charlie much, but I knew then how he kept his name clean. After that I started planning."

"Their murders?"

"My redemption."


	7. I'm Guilty

**I revised the chapter.**

**This chapter took a very long while for me to write. I was skipping paragraphs, leaving conversations half written and just about rewrote every word. I decided to just sit down tonight and get it finished – I'm still not sure about it but I really don't want to keep you guys waiting for too long. I hope you like it.**

** Word Count: 2,477**

**I'm Guilty**

**9th May 2013**

"Honey I'm home." Brendan sings cheerfully.

He walks into the cell, taking the cup of tea and a half eaten rich tea biscuit out of his celly's hands.

"Help yourself."

"I miss dinner, a man's gotta eat." Brendan shrugs, gulping back half the contents of the cup in one go.

Used to his food being taken at this point, he stands to make himself another cup of tea without any further complaint. Brendan is behaving unprecedentedly casual, as if today is just like any other day. Robin wants to follow suite, but he can't hold it in any longer, needs to know what happened.

"How did it go?" He speaks with his back turned to Brendan, eyes unwaveringly set on the steam hissing out of the boiling mini-kettle.

"It went."

"It went?" He questions, idly playing with the tea bag now floating in his mug. "Bren today was the last day of court, you have to have more to say than _'it went'_."

Shortly after being arrested Brendan had been denied bail, expectedly. On the 7th of May his time on remand at HM Liverpool Prison has come to end and his summons date had finally arrived. Meaning the last three days had been spent in a courtroom, with journalists, barristers in wigs and a district judge sitting sure and pompous on his throne. His case was also open to the public, morbid freaks, groupies and those there simple to see the murderer punished.

For the first two days the Bench heard the entire prosecution case and then arguments from the prosecution and defence before ruling on the issue. Today, the last day of his case Brendan returned to court for sentencing, the Bench taking into consideration the police reports, along with evidence and witness statements.

"The Magistrates Court has found that as a more serious offence my case should be committed to the Crown Court, to be dealt with by a judge and jury."

"When?"

"Three months."

"Three months? Three more months of fucking limbo?"

"Apparently not serious enough to for a speedy trial."

Prisoners such as Brendan and Robin with longer sentences refer to time on remand as limbo. It is a time of unknown, oblivion. The only thing you know unquestionably is you will be serving time, you will not be found to be 'not guilty' and 'time served' isn't on the cards. Prison will be your home for an extensive period of time, but the justice system hasn't seen fit to tell you for how long exactly. Not having a release date, not knowing how much time you have left, it can be torture.

Jim had warned him this out come was more than likely, especially as he has only pleaded guilty to two of the five murders, Danny and his father. Jim was adamant on arguing to reduce the other three charges, in order to avoid a full life order. He was still attempting to claim Involuntary Manslaughter for Mick, Assisting Suicide for nana Flo and Self-Defence in the case of Walker. Meaning a drawn out cases, a jury, a High Court Judge and additional time on remand – more time in limbo.

After spending an extraordinarily long amount of time making a cup of tea he no longer has any desire to consume, Robin turns to face Brendan. The man looks fine, calm almost but Robin knows this had to be getting to him. His dad had insisted on spending all his savings on a legal team, who had petitioned the court for additional time in order to build a strong defence. This meant that he had spent more time on remand than most, with months to go still.

It may seem strange or hard to understand but a sense of clam over takes a man when he find out how many years, months and days he has. It's a type of finality, you have a release date and can just concentrate on doing you time. Brendan has been robbed of this.

He tips the tea down the drain, a better idea springing to mind.

"Follow me." The younger man instruct, in the most commanding voice he can muster.

Brendan raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"You constantly give me orders, _'boy follow' _and I never ask any questions. For once in your life please do as you're told." Brendan doesn't look convinced. "Trust me." He implores.

"This better be good."

"It will be." He grins.

-8-

It's late in the day, and the halls are quiet as most of the inmates are in the leisure room or already in their cells for the night. Robin vigilantly treads the familiar path to the kitchen, avoiding any guards with Brendan following.

"The kitchen?" Brendan questions. "See when I take you for a walk it's for a reason, to teach you something or pass on wisdom. This is a locked door."

"Oh ye of little faith." Robin smiles, taking out a set of keys from his jean pocket.

"You stole the keys?" Brenda asks, almost impressed.

"No, I was promoted to head of the kitchen, After what happened with Adil."

"Who's Adil?" Brendan has only bothered to learn the names of three guys in the six odd weeks of his incarceration.

"The Turk." Not getting any sort of recognition from Brendan, despite working along side the man, Robin continues. "Anyway, he's been smuggling in contraband, booze mostly. Apparently they arrested is supplier a few weeks back, found where the hooch was made, found out how it was all getting in, stored in cleaning bottles. Traced it all back to poor Adil." He puts the key in the lock and turns it. "Abracadabra!"

-8-

"Sit." Robin instructs.

Brendan sighs but does as he is told, and sits on one of the worktops. Robin climbs up onto the counter and reaches behind the extractor above the cooker. A half full plastic gallon bottle and two mugs in hand, he sits on the worktop across from Brendan.

"I don't do cheap, toxic, counterfeit hooch."

"This is Adil's person stash." Robin informs him while filling both mugs, "Top shelf bourbon."

"Now you're talking my language." Brendan smirks, reaching out for one of the mugs. "Sláinte."

"Cheers."

They clink their cups and both down a big mouthful, Robin coughing at the burn.

"Hungry?" Robin enquires after a moment of silence.

Brendan doesn't answer, just gives him a look that says 'do you really need to ask?'. No he doesn't. Robin downs the remaining of his drink before going into the walk in fridge to gather eggs, milk and bread. Fifteen minutes later a late supper of French toast with lots of left over meat is ready. One portion much bigger than the other.

"If you want it you have to tell me what your lawyer said." Robin tells him, placing both plates to the side, standing in front of them to obscure Brendan's view.

"I could snap you in half without breaking a sweat." Brendan tells him, challenge in his voice.

"Then who would make that chicken and mushroom pie you like so much?"

"Extortion now, is it?"

"I learned from the best."

Brendan nods ever so slightly, conceding to the kid's demands. Robin grins as he tops up both mugs and Brendan fetches eating utensils.

Robin looks over at Brendan as they finally sit to eat. "Going to crown court, that's a good thing right?"

"How'd you figure?"

"Well you're shelling out all that money for a fancy lawyer-"

"Jim Mcginn is more of a master illusionist, conjuror of fairy tales, a 'truth' easy for the jury to buy. It will be convoluted and scandalous, by the time he's done they won't know which way is up."

"But he can get you less time, right?"

Brendan thinks about it, that's what he wanted, the reason for all this time and effort. he doesn't want to die in prison. But now after spending these weeks in prison without his loved ones, he's not sure if there is any point.

"That's the plan. Forty, maybe thirty-five years instead of life."

He'll be at least seventy before he gets out, the world will have changed by then, evolved. His boys will be middle aged by then with kids of their own, he may even have great-grandchildren. Cheryl will have moved on and Steven, Steven is so young and he still has a whole lifetime ahead of him.

A life without Brendan.

"But what will be left for me?" he considers aloud.

Robin doesn't answer, it's a rhetorical question. Brendan's talking to himself more than anything. They eat the rest of their meal in silence.

"I had a letter from my lawyers today, I've got a court date: July 11th."

"What is that, the Thursday or Friday?"

"Thursday."

"Mines the following Monday." Brendan tells him. "Lawyer says I'll definitely be transferred to high security in Manchester."

"Ditto."

Brendan looks up at the young boy in front of him, so fast that he almost gives himself whiplash. "Kid." Brendan mutters in such a low voice, it almost sounds like a condolence. Like 'I heard about –insert family member here– I'm sorry about your loss'. "Lawyers write that in the letter?"

"No, I've always known."

"You never said anything?"

"Not saying it out loud kind of makes it less real. But I've got a date now, there's no pretending like I won't happen. But you'll be there too."

'_But you'll be there too'_, by this Robin means that he and Brendan can get through it together. They can be there for one and other, for support. Usually Brendan would tell him to stop acting like a fucking girl, but this boy is on the edge of cliff. He's been holding it together for months, but he could fall apart any second. Prison can break the strongest of men, God knows it almost had his first stint in. Manchester's category A prison makes this lower security facility they currently reside in comparable to a weekend BBQ.

"Yeah, I'll be there too."

He says because the boy needs it, he needs it too. They drink some more, letting the moment pass.

"How much time do your lawyers think you'll get."

"Life, no parole." Robin lets a breathy, humourless laugh.

It's no funny.

"Life?" Brendan repeats shocked.

Yes, Robin has killed three people but after what they did to his sister and having to witness it. Surely there should be some kind of extenuating circumstances to take into account?

"Lawyers not claiming diminished responsibility?"

"After my arrest I spent the first three weeks in psychiatric hospital. Lawyers brought in doctor after doctor, a slew of specialists looking for just one person to diagnose me as criminally insane. But alas the search was futile, every single one of them deemed me to be mentally stable. The insanity defence isn't going to work."

Brendan is not entirely sure living life out in a mental institution is any better than life in prison. Sure it's safer, but you'd be drugged up to your eyeballs twenty-four seven, your brain permanently shut down. But in prison your brain may as well be turned off, stuck in a box like a caged animal, living by somebody else's rules. What time to wake up, when to eat, even when to exercise. Mental prison or physical prison? It's a lose-lose situation.

Brendan could spend all night debating the pros and cons between prion and a psychiatric hospital, but it's beside the point.

A jury is made up of twelve normal people, normal people have a tendency to sympathy in cases such as this. Thirteen-year-old boy witnesses the gang rape of his sister, sister dies, boy now age nineteen goes on to kill said rapists. Any juror with basic human compassion would be grasping at anything that could stop them finding him guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Even if he was found guilty, because he is guilty, he did do it. Even if the evidence in its entirety was indisputable Brendan still can't imagine a judge actually giving him life, let alone life in a maximum-security facility.

Judges like to make an example of men like Brendan, he's a thug, known criminal, cold-blooded murderer and shows no visible remorse. Whereas Robin Watson is a teenage boy, that went through a mentality traumatic childhood and as a result took the life of the three men responsible. Judges don't make examples of _boys _like Robin, he will win over the hearts' of the public making it bad press.

"Premeditation, planning, abduction and sadistic conduct. Basically I hit the hat-trick, winning me a whole life order." Robin says, as if reading Brendan's mind.

"Why bother shelling out all that money for your fancy lawyers?" Brendan asks, because the boy seems resigned to his fate.

"For dad's conscience more than anything, he thinks he let me down, that all this is his fault. No one's letting me walk the streets anytime soon, I know it and the lawyers know it."

"Enough with the pity party, we have 30 to life for that." Brendan jest as he fills their cups.

They spend the next few hours downing a little under two litters of bourbon whiskey between them. Robin feels almost normal, talking and laughing like two olds friends catching up in a bar. Something unfamiliar to a prison happens: time is forgot and before they know it is edging towards 10pm.

_buzz buzz buzz_

Both men look up at the speakers in the corner of the room and then at each other. The buzzer indicates there is two minutes till the end of day roll call, just two minuets till they are supposed to be standing out side their cell ready for count. And they're here, in the kitchen, not even in the same building and drunk off their tits.

Both men stand up, running to the door before Robin heads back, scrambling to put the whiskey back in it's hiding place.

"Come on, com on!" Brendan screams, holding open the door.

They sprint the entire way, almost slamming into people, skidding around corners and rushing through corridors with inmates already lined up. When they finally reach their own corridor they almost run straight past the cell in their haste. Luckily the guards haven't reached them yet, some sort is dispute is holding them up.

"Gum." Robin demands.

"What?"

"We stink of booze." He laughs.


	8. I have an idea

**It's been a while, please don't hate me. Life has been crazy and I don't currently have a laptop so I had to write this out on my iPad. So if there are more spelling and grammatical errors than normal you know why.**

**For everyone that asked pretty blue eyes is still going, I've written about 1000 words of the next chapter, so hopefully it should be finished soonish. **

13th May

It's late evening and both Brendan and Robin are sat reading, Schindler's Ark and Great Expectations, respectively, Bob Dylan playing softly in the background. From the corner of his eye Brendan can see the freckled boy fidgeting. Over the last half an hour Robin has re-read the same paragraph, over and over, but has yet to take in a single word. He is too worried, anxiety seeping into his marrow.

He's only been in charge of the kitchen for four days and already things are changing. He is known around the prison as Brady's boy, and no one lays a finger on him, in any capacity. But every crew and chancer wants control of the kitchen, by having the keys Robin has become an obstacle, something in their way.

You own the kitchen, you pretty much own the prison. Most things smuggled into the prison came in through the kitchen. Adil and his Turkish predecessors held it for twelve years, collectively. Their organisation was tight and nobody had managed to take them down, those who had tried got burnt. Literally.

At first, when word got out the Governor had put Robin in charge people had assumed that Brendan would have something going. Even Robin had expected him to want to set something up, but apparently the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. The only way in which Brendan had taken advantage of the situation was to sit around snacking, instead of actually carrying out any of his duties.

With the rate he eats robin was surprised Brendan wasn't the size of a house.

With the kitchen connections going unused, the entire prison almost dry of liquor and cigarettes Robin was very aware it wouldn't be long before someone made a move. In fact, with all the new faces in the kitchen yesterday Robin had his suspicions that the blacks have already started. And while Brendan was at mass this morning, a guy from Warren's crew had come to see him, failing at maintaining any sort of subtlety.

"Brendan, can I speak to you?"

"I don't know. Can you?" Brendan doesn't look away from Schindler's Ark.

"May I speak to you?"

"Make it quick kid." He turns the page.

"I want to start running something out of the kitchen."

"Something?" Brendan folds the corner of the page and put the book to the side, his attention peaked. _"Something_ as in illegal prison imports? Not a chance."

"I wasn't asking your permission, it's my kitchen."

Brendan can't help but smile, the boy is trying to assert his authority. He's been listening, learning.

"I just thought I could use your connections." Robin continues.

"My connections?"

"You used to own a bar right? You must know someone who can get their hands on cheap boozes."

"Yeah I can think of a few people. But I ain't getting involved and neither are you."

For Brendan that's the end of the discussion, he returns to his book. Across the room Robin does not appreciate being told what to do, he is normally a chicken shit, but he's tired of Brendan telling him to 'man up' and to not let the other inmates intimidate him when it's Brendan that treat him like a child. So he finds the courage to use what he knows about Brendan against him.

"Fine you don't want in, I'm sure Warren will be more than glad to help." He says, returning to his own book.

He counts down in his head -

Three.

Two.

One.

"Foxy?" Right on queue, Brendan's voice is strained and irritated.

"Yeah."

"If he knows what's good for him he'll stay away from you."

He doesn't miss how it sounds like Brendan cares. He knows Brendan is right, he doesn't trust Warren's nice guy act for one second and knows if he were to get into business with the man it wouldn't be long till there was a metaphorical knife in his back. Or maybe an actual knife because murder is the easiest way to get rid of a problem in prison. So yes he'll stay away from Warren, but Brendan doesn't need to know that.

"He's already had Smokey, one of his guys come talk to me."

This rubs Brendan the wrong way, Warren is obviously getting brave and the man doesn't take small steps. If he has a plan he's going to come charging at Brendan like a bull in a china shop. If he wants to keep the distance between his young cellmate and Warren he's going to have to get involved.

Robin takes note of Brendan pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head like he's going against what he thinks is best. He knows he has him.

"You're in?" The boy enquires filled with hope.

"Yeah I'm in, but we don't do alcohol. The last guy was bringing in gallons of hooch, made fools of the guards, the Governor is cracking down. It's going to be near impossible to get a drop of alcohol into this place."

"Half the prisons is bladded before noon, we can't not provide it. Have you seen all the black guys that have swapped into kitchen duties-"

"You got something against our fellow inmates of African and Caribbean heritage? Robin, your prejudice both surprises and disappoints me."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He knows even when talking about the most serious topic Brendan cant drop the habits of sarcasm and generally just winding people up. "We're both in here for another three months, if Warren and his guys, the Polish, one of the black crews or whoever-the-fuck, comes after the kitchen the two of us won't be able to stop them. Especially if we're not giving people what they want, booze. People are going to start realising you're not all that scary."

"Not scary? Well I've never been accused of that before. I'm offended, actually offended." Brendan quips, hand on chest.

"Can you just be serious for a second."

"Two weeks ago you wouldn't say boo to a mouse, now you want to smuggle alcohol and God knows what else into a prison. Sorry if I don't think this is_ serious_."

"Brendan, I_ am_ being serious. You're just one guy with a bony carrot top as a sidekick. Adil was basically untouchable because he supplied the booze. We need something that makes us indispensible, an enterprise where we get people working for us, so we can start our own crew."

Our own crew? The kid is making giant, ambitious leaps.

"I'm not looking to make any waves."

Brendan jus wants to sever his time, dwell in his own misery and die in peace.

"We don't really have a fucking choice." Robin raises his voice in frustration, earing him a sharp look from Brendan, which reads 'watch your tone'. He exhaled to calm himself down. "All I'm saying is we give up the kitchen now, we're going to look weak. You're going to look weak, Brendan."

Brendan thinks it over and he know the boy has chosen worlds that will have the biggest impact with a man like him, but he has a point. Rumours and exaggerated stories alone won't be able to sustain the Brendan Brady untouchable force field forever.

"We start bringing in the basics." He concedes. "But not alcohol, the old Russian priest is mixing up moonshine in his cell. We're not going in competition with a man of God."

"Pharmacy then?" He offers up as an alternative unique selling point, they have to have something people can't get through the hardships of daily prison life without.

"Kai's got the drugs covered."

"Yeah but his release date is coming up and the guy owes you a favour right? Said so himself and _you_ said it could be useful to have a guy like that on side. You get in with him now, you can take over once he's gone."

"I'm not selling drugs." He thinks of Walker, it's has caused one too many problems in Brendan's life.

"Hear me out. Kai and his people have weed, meth, heroin and cocaine covered. We offer a more specialised selection, ketamine, prescription pills and that."

Brendan simple offers a shake of his head, returning to his book again.

-8-

18th May

Brendan makes a few phone calls and within two days they've got cigarettes, mobile phones and anything else a prisoner could think up hidden away in the kitchen, but no alcohol. The Russian priest, in for stealing money meant for building schools in Israel has recruited some of the other older inmates. They are producing a steading stream of jailhouse hooch to keep the alcoholics satisfied. Robin knows he should be fine with this, especially as he gets 15% of their profits for providing the ingredients, but he isn't.

He wants to secure his safety in this place and assumes Brendan doesn't or can't understand that because he can look after himself. He knows Brendan won't always be there to protect him, it was one of the first things he said to him.

They're eating lunch, Brendan enthusiastically so, Robin catering the menu around his cravings.

"Condoms."

A fork full of macaroni and cheese half way to his mouth, Brendan stops, blinking a few times.

"Condoms?"

"Yeah, condoms. It was a straight no to drugs and now alcohol is off the table, so condoms."

"Kid, I've feel like I've missed a crucial step in your thought process. How have you gone from Class A's and counterfeit liquor to condoms?"

"It makes perfect sense."

"Clearly." Brendan notes, voice dead pan.

Brendan continues with the pasta, laughing to himself at the ludicrous idea of a stealth operation to smuggle condoms into a prison.

"STI's are running rampant through the prison. Syphilis, HIV, Chlamydia, but people keeping having unprotected sex. Some forced into it." He doesn't look Brendan in the eye when he says this, what used to happen to Robin is something they do not bring up. "And sickbay doesn't provide protection because sex between inmates is prohibited. It's genius really, who doesn't love the guys that stops you from getting warts on your prick."

"If it's such a brilliant idea why has no one thought about it? Why is no one else bringing in condoms?"

Checkmate.

-8-

21st May

For the next three days Robin hardly says a word to Brendan, who assumes he's in a sulk because his 'geniuses' plan had been dismissed. When in fact, Robin has his mind set on condom distribution. He'd even carried out market research, well as close as you could get to market research in a prison.

He had started a rumour that free condom's would be available and observed the uproar when this was proven to me untrue.

He just had to convince Brendan some how.

When he brings it up again they are walking to the showers after a session at the gym. Brendan is exhausted after taking up boxing with one of the other inmates as well as running on the treadmill and lifting. This is the perfect time to catch him off guard, his electrolytes are off and he'll be hungry.

"No one has bothered smuggerling condoms on a massive scale because there's not a tone of money in it." The young boy starts.

"This, again? We've talked about this, put it to rest."

"No you talked, and shut me down. Will you just hear me out?" He's almost pleading.

The kid is passionate, Brendan will give him that much. He figures there's no harm in indulging the boy.

"If theres no money in it why should we bother?"

"We're not doing it for the money."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing, there is also glee in his voice because he's spent three days coming up with an argument that Brendan will not be able to dispute.

"We're not?"

"The reason we started running things throught the kitchen was to avaoid a play on us. Someone takes over the kitchen in a few days a we look weak. Right now we have a manopoly, we control 95% of the market and people will want in on that. If a takeover happens we don't have the muscle or the customer loyalty to block it."

"Did you get a BA Honors in Business and Managment while I was at chaple this morning?"

"Business and Economics A-Levels. That's besides the point, we do this to keep hold of our 95%. We're doing it to stay on top. Everyone in here is having sex-" They exchange a look. "- Well almost everyone, and there's a big problem with STI's. It spreads like wild fire in here. We start providing this much needed service we'll be like Microsoft."

"Microsoft?

"Yeah they're the market leader and they wouldne't be able to keep hold of market dominance without being extremely successful at creating value for their consumers. Our entire operation has to be effciant, only high quality products and that way we can justify a rise in price. But with the condoms we basically give them away, offer a prison essential at a low price, keep people happy and safe, they won't mind paying a little more for their fags and no other crew will be able to make a move. The other prisoners wouldn't allow it."

The lad knows his stuff, he reckons if Robin hadn't ended up in this place he would have achived great things. It's a shame.

"What's that look for?" Robin asks, feeling self conscious.

"Nothing you just remind me off my old business partner. Not Foxy." He adds at the horrified look on Robin's face. "He also had all these big ideas." Joel ran on passion and the determination to prove people wrong, to prove Brendan wrong. And while Robin has that same passion, it's driven by pure intelligence, belief in himself. " You've convinced me."

Robin's face lights up, like a child opening his presents on christmas morning.

"Thank you Brendan, you are not going to regret this!"

"This is your plan, I have your back but the logistics are up to you."

Robins face drops, he has no idea how to set something like this up.

-8-

28th May

Robin spends a week figuring out the 'logistics'. Hour after hour passes and the only thing on his mind is how on earth is he going to pull this off? He thinks about it rationally, it's like any business, the first step in providing a product is finding a supplier for the product. It has to be economically viable, especially at the low prices he's planning on charging.

Brendan's guy gets mobile phones in bulk off the back of a truck. While a bored, sticky fingered tech-geek shop lifts hand held game consoles. The cigarettes are dirt cheap from Germany. How can he get his hands on condoms at wholesale price or less?

He realises there's not much he can do locked behind bars, but it also hits him that anyone could buy condoms in bulk. They're not illegal or particularly expensive on the outside world, and he figures the more he buys the bigger the discount. In the end he goes to his dad for help, explaining the plan over their next visit.

He tells Brendan that he had his dad do some research and he's been in contact with the same company that supplies Poundland with their condoms. He can't decipher if the expression on his face is one of disappointment because he went to his father or impressed that he's got a plan. He presses on regardless, because he's impressed with himself. He tells him how with the amount they are buying they can get them for twenty seven pence apiece.

"And how many did you order?"

"Five thousand."

"Five thousand?"

Robin had spent a entire night deciding how many to buy. The prison had a population of 1212 at last count, from what he could tell only a third of the inmates are sexually active. With fortnightly deliveries that is around twelve condom for half a month, per inmate.

But the look Brendan is giving him over his morning tea is making him unsure of his calculations. He isn't sure if it is an under estimation or vast over order. He explains how he got to this number to Brendan, but now he's just shaking his head.

"That's just to start with, we can readjust the next order depending on how many we sell."

"Five thousand condoms. That's not baggies of coke easy to hid and get rid of if there's a cell check, or booz hidden inside bleach bottels, where do you plan to store this massive about of condoms, and how are you even going to get them in?"

He hadn't though it that, how much space would five thousand _condoms_ takes up? Brendan had spots all over the kitchen where he hid things, packets of cigarets inside 10kg bags of rice, a dildo on a top shelf of the walk in freezer behind the froze peas and mobiles taped under the sink. How many bags of rice would he need? Too many.

And he hadn't even gotten to the stage in his planning of brining in the condoms.

"Five thousand condoms at twenty seven pence a pop." Brendan wasn't done, slowly letting out the air in Robin's bubble. "That is one thousand, three hundred and fifty pounds exactly. How do you plan on paying this, you a prison, I'm guessing with not much in terms of finical wealthy, how are you going to pay a legitimate business?"

Brendan may have been against this at the beginning, reluctant to get involved but he was disappointed. Disappointed that there are so many holes in his young cellmates plan, he was hoping he would succeed.

This gets Brendan thinking, coming up with ways to get this plan on its legs again.

-8-

30th May

Robin seems to have give up on the condom idea, but Brendan can now see the merit in it. The boy was pretty persuasive. He's initiated casual conversations with the more laid back guards. He found out condoms are high up on the list of contraband people try and smuggle in. One guy stuffed thirty up his anus, an over weight prisoner stuck them between his fat rolls, and family members hide them in the binding of hard back books. He laughs with the guards over the idiocies of these prisons, but on the way back to his cell he can't help but think of it as a challenge. To succeed where all these others have failed, and not just to smuggle in a few condoms for personal use, but five thousand of them for the masses.

He makes a phone call to Joel, requesting a visit. Robin has set up the initial stages, the next step is getting the condoms through the prison gates. Joel's haulage firm could be useful.

He knows Joel has plans to become a law abiding citizen so he makes sure the boy knows there is no pressure. In or out, he has to do what's right for him, but the sly smile that spreads over the Scotsman'd face tells him that he's finding the good life boring. The boy jumps at the chance and is more concerned with what will happen to Brendan if he's caught. If they're found they'll get confiscated sure, he may even get sometime in isolation but he's got less than three months here, what's the worse they can do?

Joel points out that it could hurt his trial, Brendan plays it down, doesn't mention he doesn't have high hopes. He's being realistic. He tells the boy how they will change the fruity and veg supplier, Joel's firm will deliver it, condoms lining the cardboard boxes. He gives the boy the contact information for Robin's father so they can sort out what Brendan and Robin can't from inside the jail.

His next visit is to the Russian priest. Although the prison has an actual priest from the local parish, Vlad, the Russian is in charge of the day to day running of the non denominational chapel. It doesn't take much convincing to get him to agree to hide the condoms, or anything else that Brendan may need hiding. As long as Brendan and Robin give him a discount on moonshine supplies. The old guy drives a hard bargain, driving Brendan down to 7.5%.

Apparently the guard that carries out the chapel checks is less than efficient in his searches, turning a blind eye for a price. The oldies have been able to hide litters of their moonshine in plain sight. After his talk with Vlad, Brendan pays the partially sighted guard a visit. Joel made a good point and if can avoid spending time in the hole he'll take it.

The guard agrees to to make sure that what will now be referred to as "the stock" - because he has not interest in knowing- will make the long journey from the kitchen to the chapel without interruption. He won't look too closely on his regular check of the chapel and will let hem know if someone else is to carry out the checks. All for a price of course.

-8-

9th June

Their business is in full swing, Brendan sorted it so only people they trusted -mostly the friends Robin had made in prison- worked in the kitchen. They are all young-ish boys, that have gone through the same things Robin has, and working for Brendan offered them a certain amount of protection.

Robin had been right about being able to charge what ever they wanted for the other products they provided. People were asking for all sorts now, iPads, strippers brought in a lawyers, one guy asked for an expensive cut of tenderloin, they knew Brendan could get it in. His biggest problem as getting their money out.

You couldn't leave large amounts of money around a prisons, a dodgy guard would find it and keep it or an honest guard wold find it and hand it it as evidence to the Governor. If the Governor was to find out about the eleven grand hidden in an emptied and re-weld baked bean tin it would open a line of question Brendan couldn't answer.

The other prisoners where also a becoming a problem, they knew there was money somewhere and Brendan could feel a storm coming.


	9. Don't Fuck with Batman and Robin

**To the guest reviewer who ****asked, yes Ste will be in this fic. I think in the first chapter I said that he would be in chapter 12 but I keep getting new ideas and his appearance has been pushed back. But I promise he will be in it.**

**Again this was written on my iPad, it took so long that I can really be bothered to proof read. **

**Word count: 3,041**

**Don't Fuck with Batman and Robin**

**14th June**

Robin's plan of running and keeping the kitchen consisted of three well thought out components. Demand, loyalty and muscle. They are meeting demand, there is not one man craving a cigarette or a lad going with out his favourite video game. Oddly enough prisoners are loyal customers. People are satisfied, because with Robin what you see is what you got. Word is spreading. As long as you pay the agreed upon amount you will get exactly what you ask for. The only problem is muscle.

That is where Robin suggests Warren and his men came in. To say Brendan is reluctant would be an understatement of massive proportions. He is violently and adamantly against it. It isn't ideal but Robin can't see another way around the issue that hey do need protection.

-8-

On Wednesday afternoons Brendan skipps kitchen duties in favour of watching Night Rider in the leisure room. A group of six or so disgruntled Turkish inmates have been watching and taking note of his and Robins movements and use it to their adavantage. They plan a hit on the kitchen and the chapel, to take back what they saw as righfully their own. They are able to take most of what the priest is hiding but some how Robin and his wafer like merry men manage to hold them off in the kitchen. One lad escapes, frantically running to find Brendan and tells him what is happening.

When Brendan reaches the kitchen, there are four of them. Two searching, turning the kitchen upside down for their entire stash, one restraining Robin against a wall and the last just watching.

He doesn't even have time to think before he is reacting, Is body taking action before his mind has time to comprehend the consequences. He picks up a frying pan and slams it against the head on the man that his hand around Robin's throat. The impact makes such a noise that every single person freezes, halting in their actions to look at Brendan and the limp body at his feet.

Kaan, the man that had been sitting on a stool, puts down the bag of crisps he was eating and toes up to Brendan. More than anything Brendan is just pissed off. All he wants to do is enjoy an episode of Night Rider, he hadn't wanted to get caught up in any of this, yet here he is again.

He attractes trouble.

The commotion alertes the guards, who come bursting through the double doors. There's a man knocked out cold on the floor, a lad with his arm broken, Brendan and the leader of the group involved in a stand off and what was found of the kitchen stash in a pile on a table.

Keeping to prison ways nobody said a word about what had happened. The guards proceed in a search of the entire kitchen, the rest of the stash discovered, of course the guards suspected Brendan but with no one willing to talk they had zero proof, especially with people placing him in the leisure room just minutes before.

The kitchen is no longer a viable place to hide anything and the Turks are gunning for them, after Brendan put their guy in a comma. At this point Brendan has no choice but to ask Warren for his help, there is no way around it. The next morning Robin still has the shape of a hand print around his neck, and beyond all this prison-smuggerling-operation-kingpin crap he wantes to keep the boy safe. They only had three weeks left, so really what was he holding onto?

Brendan swallows his pride, ignores Warren's gloating and negotiates the terms of their agrrement.

1) This is not a partnership, Brendan is in change and Warren answers to him.

2) Warren is to paid handsomely for the services he and his men provid.

3) If Warren even thought about crossing them he would wake up dead.

4) Warren will take over, kitchen, outside connections, the lot, once Brendan is convicted and transfered.

With Kai's release date only days away Warren has been making moves to takeover drugs too. Brendan has an inkling that his plans will not bear fruit. Whether reciding in prison or living as a free man, Kai will still be running the drug game within the four walls of the Leeds Prison. Its is too lucrative for him to just walk away from. Brendan had no clue who will be given the key to the kitchen once Robin has been transferred, but he highly doubtes it will be Warren. Warren wants his connections to the outside world, the main one being Joel and his business. Brendan can't figure out how he does it week after week but the kid can get just about anything in unnoticed, what he does know is Joel is never going to agree to work with his father.

In a way he feels sorry for Foxy, things never quite turned out how he hopes. The best laid schemes of mice and men go often awry, and leave us nothing but grief and pain.

-8-

Things have settled since the incident in the kitchen. Warren's men have the numbers and are savages in a fight so the Turkish crew haven't dared retaliate. To be on the safe side nothing was kept in the kitchen or the chapel anymore. Each of the men had his own stash to look after, that way it wasn't all kept together and Brendan was less involved. The Governor has a stick up his ass about Brendan, having guards search his cell every day, to no avail but it was still an inconvenience.

Robin feels guilty, he had persuaded Brendan to get involved and his quiet prison life had been overturned. The guards want to bring him down, the Turkish are baying for his blood and now he is forced to work with Warren.

-8-

"Boss. Robin. There's been a problem." Archie, one of the men Warren has assigned is stood by their table in the canteen. He id at an awkward distance, knowing how Brendan feels about his space during meal time. The man hesitates waiting from a response, but Brendan doesn't even look away from his meal. "My stash is gone, some ones nicked it."

Robing looks over to Brendan, waiting for a reaction, looking for an indication on how to proceed, but the news isn't enough to distract his attention from his lunch, tuna melt. Robin remembers his words 'this is your plan, you're responsible'.

This is another one of Brendan's lessons, he's on his own.

"Alright mate, I'll get you more stock, keep an ear to the ground, let know if you hear anything."

"Uh, okay. I'll do that." He looks unsure, and obviously unhappy at taking orders from Robin, but with Brendan not getting involved he has no other choice.

"Archibald." Brendan finally looks up from his meal, looks like his only just noticed the conversation between the two men at the table. "Wait." He leans over and whispers instructions to Robin.

"When you speak in that monotone voice, with those stony eyes I can't tell if you're being serious."

"I'm always serious. This was your idea. You need to sort it properly, so no one dares crosses you again. Perception." that was one of his first lessons, if you're precived a certain way, true or not, you will be treated accordingly. "You wanted us to be kings of this place, then don't let one of them make jesters of us. "

Robin inhales a large lungful then exhales slowly, psyching himself up to carry out Brendan's Instructions. He stands up walking up to Archie, landing a punch on his cheek Bone. He stubbles back onto the nearest table, more from the surprise of being punched that the actual punch itself. Robin feels like he's broken his hand, but doesn't let it show as he's gained the attention of the entire canteen. There's no turning back now.

Robin strides to the centre of the room and climbs onto the table, waiting for silence.

"Something has been taken from me, no big deal just I'd like it back. Disclaimer: if I don't get it back the party concerned can expect a visit. Before tonight's roll call would be ideal."

With that he leaves the canteen, Brendan follows, biting into an apple.

They're silent the entire way, when the door to their cell closes behind them Robin lets out all anxiety. "How was I?"

"Show me your hand." Brendan assesses the swollen, red knuckles. "Not sure the well mannered, softly spoken school prefect approach spread fear through a bunch of hardened criminals."

"It works for you."

"It's hard to pull off calm but menacing the way I do. Takes years of practise. All we can do now is wait and see. I don't think it's broken." He runs Robin's hand under freezing cold tape to relieve the inflammation. "I really need to teach you how to throw a punch, kid." Brendan holds him by the base of his neck, smiling down at the shorter man. "Robin, shit's about to hit the fan, we either come out on top or are crushed. The things you've done, been through… fucking remarkable. You'll be fine."

Knowing that Brendan believes in him gives Robin a sense of power, his chest visible puffed out ready for combat. Ready for anything.

-8-

As Brendan had expected the perpetrator of the theft doesn't return the condoms and other stolen itams. This foresight means that he spends the day questioning every person he came across, until he finds out who it was. The problem with a cocky thief is he can't keep his mouth shut, he need everybody to know it was him.

After roll call, locked in their cell they spend the better part of the night constructing a plan.

**16th June**

For the first time in their three months sharing the cellm it is Robin who woke up first. He looks himself over in the mirror, he had changed in the last few months. He has filled out, not muscular but getting there. He also feels taller, or maybe it's the confidence he and gained which makes him stand taller, sure of himself. His features aren't as soft, his jaw less round and more angular his eyes have some how hardened.

He picked up Brendan's electrical razor, the one that he has yet to use and started to shave off his floppy ginger tresses.

"Are you ready for today?"

Robin jumpes a little at Brendan's reflection looking back at him. He hadn't even heard him get up.

"I'll have to be, won't I?"

"You set on what you have to do before hand?"

"Yeah, but you not coming with me?"

"No, I've got some last minute arrangements to take care of."

Robin closes his eyes, taking in a breath. "Okay, lets go for breakfast then."

"Robin, today it going to go fine. I'm going to be by your side the whole time. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Look at us, getting all soft like two girls. Lets go do some stupid shit."

-8-

They were two of the first people to get down, the air around the canteen became thick with rigidity as the room startd to fill with more people. Every person chances a look over at them as they joined the queue, waiting for something major to kick off.

"Can you feel that?" Brendan asks.

"Feel what?"

"Tension. You can almost feel it in the air."

"They're anticipating our retaliation?" Robin is feeling the pressure, people are watching, waiting.

"But anticipation has the habit of setting you up for disappointment."

"We won't disappoint them. I won't disappoint you."

"Good lad." Brendan skills tapping his cheek.

They sit in silence after that. Brendan is calm and collected, enjoying his meal putting a side the events that are to take place in the next hour and a half. Robin on the other hand has taken up the habit of fidgeting once again, his leg bouncing under the table and his own breakfast untouched.

Just as the wait is getting too much for Robin, Warren finally walks in. Once he is seated Robin goes over to have private chat, impressed by his own ablity to clear the table of Warrens cronies. Or where they his and Brendan's cronies now? He knows better than to let Warren in on the their plans. He keeps it to the bare essentials, when and where a few of his guys are needed.

As they sit, making sure Warren understands exactly what is need from him, Robin can't help but keep one eye on Brendan. He has some at the table with him, which has never happened. He considered what he had said this morning 'last minute arrangements to take care of'. What does that mean exactly? He recognises the person sat in his seat, Connor, a lad he used to hang out with before Brendan arrived. They are both young, slight, vulnerable and so became the prison bitches. He couldn't help but worry, why did Brendan need to speak to him, he couldn't possible be helping with the plan.

-8-

The water stops flowing from the shower Heads, the room full of naked men look around for an indication of what is happening. Brendan and Robin walk into the shower room, both fully dressed, Robin dragging a steel pole along the tiled floor as he walks.

His target doesn't see him coming, still has his back to him. He looks at his parent for some sort of confirmation, Brendan nods and so he lands the first blow to Lincoln's ribs. He can feel the vibration from the contact ricochet back down the surface of his pole and he hears the sound of bones cracking.

When he tortured the three men that had raped his sister it had been systematic. He had planned it for months, dreamed about if for years before that, he knew what he was going to those men, step by step. He had to take them apart, disintegrate enough of what made the people so that they were begging for it to end. Welcoming death, as his sister had done. He didn't take joy from it, the only thing that would have made him truely happy was reversing time so none of it would have happened. No, it was just something he had to do.

Right now this moment he felt powerful, he savoured every swing of his weapon. Lincoln may not have been one of the men that had raped him but the man had made his life hell. It was like sport to him, he was the playground bully looking for new, inventive ways to torture him.

"He's had enough." Brendan voice cuts through sound of men cheering and flesh being pounded.

He looks up at Brendan, his hand on his shoulder and indicating for him to stand. He looks down at the crumpled man on the floor below him. He's not entirely sure when he drooped the rod in favour of his fists, climbing onto the man and pummelling his face. But his hands are covered in somebody else's blood and his knuckles ache, the evidence is clear.

When the boy still hasn't made a move to stand, Brendan physically lifts him by the arm and gives him a fleeting looks that says _'now is not the time to freek out'._

"You're bleeding." He tells him, pointing at Brendan's lip.

Brendan touches his fingers to his blood stained lips, scoffing at the crimson pigment covering his fingers. He sucks it all up before spitting a mixture of blood and saliva at the quivering man on the floor, at his own feet.

"The fucker head-butted me."

For a moment Robin though maybe he was the course, got so caught in the moment that he accidentally lashed out. Now he looks at the man who must be responsible for the small gash on Brendan's lip. He recognises him as the monster that terrorised him, the face that still on occasion haunts his dreams.

The boy is confused, and when he looks at Brendan and Connor standing at the front of the crowd he knows he did this for him, because of what that man did to him.

Brendan picks up the steel rod that his cellmate had discarded and uses it to slam down on his own target's hand, crushing almost every bone.

"Fuck I heard that." Robin laughs, still giddy from the adrenaline.

"Don't worry it will heal… eventually." Brendan crouches down, hovering above the man. He whispers, Robin having to strain to hear what is being said. "When you see me in the corridor turn and walk the other way, if I'm in the lunch hall you skip that meal, stay as far as you physically can from me in the yard." He looks up at Robin, who's looking back at hwithin awe and application. "If you ever look at that kid, talk about him, if I even sense that you're thinking of him I'm going to come back with a blade and take that filthy hand."

Smiling, Brendan lightly taps the man's face making sure he understands before returning to their original target.

"Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln, look at the mess you've gone and got yourself into. Get yourself cleaned up, we'll be expecting our stock back within the hour." Brendan takes the man's groan as acknowledgment. "Robin I think we've made ourselves clear?"

"Sure looks that way." Robing replies taking a quick glance of the room.

"Fellas, good talk." Brendan nods, before they both exit the showers.


End file.
